


Drink Up, Baby Boy

by Babythe67Impala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addicted!Sam, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bloodplay, Bottom Sam, Demon Blood, Demon!Dean, Dubious Consent, Forced-Bottom Sam, Fucked Up, Humiliation, Incest, Kidnapped Sam, Learned Masochism, M/M, Marking, Multi, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Pet Play, Piercings, Possessive Dean, Sadism, Shame, Sibling Incest, Smut, Tattoos, Top Dean, Torture, deanmon, season 10, this is really fucked up so be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babythe67Impala/pseuds/Babythe67Impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting after Sam finds Dean after Dean dying in Season 9 and coming back as 'Deanmon' in Season 10.  </p><p>Sam finally finds his brother, Dean, after a long-time look. He doesn't expect what he finds (at all), nor the situation he suddenly wakes up finding himself in. </p><p>
  <b>ON HOLD.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Off The Wagon

**Author's Note:**

> This of my first planning-on-making-this-an-actual-story fanfiction. It's dark and definitely not for the fainthearted. This will probably be one of the darkest things I've ever written, see how there's gonna be Sadist and Masochist dynamics in it. I wrote this fairly quickly... Will probably be going back and fixing mistakes as I see them. If you couldn't tell by the tags, this IS NOT for everyone. It's definitely in the more fucked-up side of the things.

Dean was wearing a shit-eating grin, emerald eyes darkening as he stood feet from the younger Winchester. Then turning black all together. Sam felt his heart almost stop mid-ram into his sternum. There weren't many things that could make him so terrified; one of them happening to be losing Dean. Which he had, pretty much. 

No, no he hadn't. Not yet. There was still a chance. To get that thing out of Dean. 

"Get the hell out of my brother, you--" Sam began with authority, his shoulders straightening in attempts to intimidate, but the thing wearing Dean's meatsuit just laughed, blinking his coal-black eyes. 

"Heya to you, too, Sammy," Dean's lips curled into a malicious smile, one that sent chills up and down Sam's spine. 

"Don't call me that. You're not Dean," Sam snapped. 

"Oh, baby boy, but I _**am**_." He replied slyly, wagging his brows, blinking once and allowing for the emerald to peek through. 

 

* * * 

 

Sam couldn't remember a thing for a good few minutes coming back into consciousness. He remembered finally finding Dean. Instead of that bringing him joy, all he felt was dread. What the hell had happened? Fuck, his head hurt. There was a pounding in the side of his head and as he went to move, he went to yelp, but it was muffled. He realized that his jaw was sore. He opened his eyes, but he opened it to darkness. Okay, where the hell was he? He started to feel everything. He was laying down on something hard, wooden perhaps? No, metal or plastic. And as he pulled at his hands, he felt that they were restrained. Leather, it felt like. His mouth was open, kinda, mouth around something. A gag? Running tongue across it, he found that it was made of cloth. 

He pulled at his restraints again and he hissed at the soreness to his wrists and ankles. 

On came the lights, abrupt and sending a searing pain shooting through his already aching head, inducing a shudder and a muffled whimper. 

"Wakey, wakey, Sammy," 

The voice was familiar. His eyes adjusted to the light and Sam looked around almost frantically. A figure came into view and he had to concentrate to get his vision to focus. Emerald eyes stared back at him, startling him enough to jolt him and hiss out muddled curses as his sore limbs were yanked on. "Dean?" Nothing came out, but a pathetic whimper. 

A wicked smile spread wide across his face. "Sorry about the gag. Didn't want you to wake up screamin'. It's kinda annoying after 'while." Dean said with no sincerity to his apology. He walked over in that bowlegged way Sam had always loved, but this different. It scared the hell out of him; every step he took.

He gripped the gag once he got over to a struggling and wriggling Sam, trying to turn his face away from him, but Dean pulled the cloth, damp with Sam's spit, down, letting it fall loosely around Sam's neck. The emerald was still there, but they were... malicious. Empty. They didn't reveal any emotions. They were dull, yet bright with something that Sam couldn't lay his trembling finger on. Normally, he wouldn't be so freaked out. Maybe even spew a few snarky remarks here and there to his captor, but this was Dean. But it wasn't _his_ Dean. 

"Oh, c'mon, baby brother!" Dean chuckled, cocking his head to the side. It wasn't with curiosity. It was more like he was picking Sam apart, cell by cell. "Lighten up a little," Dean pouted mockingly. His hand came down to Sam's collarbone, to which Sam tried to shake it off with a few jerky movements of his chest and shoulder, none of which did anything but make him hiss at the soreness in the rest of his body and remind him again how helpless he was. 

"Fuck off," Sam spat out through gritted teeth. He'd be damned before he let whoever this was wearing his brother's meatsuit see that he was scared. 

Which, holy fuck, he was. 

"That's not very nice," Dean's lips quirked up into a pleased smirk. Sam wondered if that was how he looked when he was soulless-- a complete and utter jackass with a probable God-complex. 

"Kidnapping people and binding them to a cot isn't nice either, asshole," Sam hissed as the hand that was once on his shoulder began to slowly trail down. In between his pecks, down the middle of his abdomen, the dip of his naval. "Wh-what the hell happened?" Sam demanded, cursing mentally at himself for the stammer. 

"Well, I kicked that pert little ass of yours first," Dean's eyes were following his fingers as they trailed lower and lower, stopping once they reached the waistband of his faded jeans. "Then I threw you in the Impala." Eyes flicked dangerously up to Sam, a disturbing smile curling up at his lips. "Rode shotgun just like old times, Sammy," He added as a little side note, a too-pleasant looking smirk adorning his lips. His brow creased some and his hand was retracted from his lower abdomen and came up to Sam's face who automatically moved from the touch, but being restrained like this... it only allowed for a person to move so far. Dean touched him anyway, laying his fingers on Sam's face, cupping it. It was almost a gentle gesture. That was until he pressed his thumb against Sam's cheekbone, to which Sam winced and bit back a flurry of curses, a pain shooting up through the place his brother-- whoever or _whatever_ touched. "It's a shame, you're such a pretty boy, Sammy," 

His thumb swiped over the bruised area and then took back his hand, gripping the edge of the cot as he leaned over, examining Sam's face. "Oh well, it'll heal 'fter awhile. 'Specially with that rabbit food diet of yours." 

What the hell was Dean doing? This couldn't actually be Dean. This was a demon riding his meatsuit. His brother was dead, gone. But that didn't stop every word that came from his brother's lips feel wrong. Pert ass? Pretty? The fuck was going on? God, it was like some parallel universe. Twilight zone type shit. 

Sam's heart was pounding relentlessly against his sternum, hurting his chest with the sheer pressure. 

"What's a matter? Cat got your tongue?" Dean sneered, straightening out again, running a hand through his hair that wasn't styled right. Fuck, everything about him was _wrong_. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! "That's okay. With what I've got planned for you, there won't be much talkin' involved." 

That made everything stop for Sam. What was that supposed to mean? "What do you mean--" Sam cut himself off and shook his head a bit, eyes landing back on Dean and narrowing. "Who the fuck are you?!" He demanded. 

"I'm your big brother. Dean Winchester. Taken care of you your entire life. Ring a bell?" He snickered. "After I died, the Mark turned me into..." He trailed off, gesturing up and down to himself, he blinked and his eyes were beetle black. "-This."

"That's not possible--" Sam was cut off. 

"Oh yes, baby boy. It is," It was almost a purr, one that went straight down Sam's spine in waves as it rolled off Dean's tongue. He blinked, the once-comforting, now-terrifying green returning. He started circling the cot like a shark with its' prey. "Better than ever. None of that moral compass bullshit keeping me in the past. I do what I want when I want it. With our shit luck, I don't know why I didn't start thinking this way before. Always having to save people and hunt things. The Family Business, right?" Dean laughed darkly, bitterly, shaking his head. "It's so much easier when you just _don't give a shit_." 

That made Sam's heart lurch in his pained chest. There was this little nagging voice in the back of his head that was louder than the rest, making him believe that this... _thing_ really was Dean. His brother. Not some random demon taking his body for a joyride. That in some fucked up and twisted way, this was, in fact, his brother. 

"You're thinkin' awful loud, Sammy," Dean grinned, rounding the head of the cot. 

"How?" Sam finally spoke in a small, pathetic voice that he would have otherwise cursed at himself for. 

Dean came back into view, wearing that stupid smirk that Sam wanted to _punch_ off of his fucking face. He shrugged, but his face showed no sign of uncertainty or any other characteristic of other people who didn't know something as big as that. "The Mark wasn't going to let me go so easy." 

The room fell silent, save for the shuffle of Dean's jeans rubbing back and forth as he walked, the thud of his boots against what sounded like cement. Fuck, he really was in some kind of dungeon. Looking around, that was plain as day. It was dingy, questionable looking stains on the walls, which looked to be made out of cement. Goddamnit, it was like he was in a damn cinder block. Only one exit. Three or four yards away from him. Even if he could somehow get out of his restraints, there is still the matter of Dean being in between him and the door. Demon Dean seemed like a force to be reckoned with. From the beating he took, one he couldn't even remember, that was obvious. 

Sam was brought back from his thoughts when he realized how intensely Dean was staring at him. The emerald was dark, but not like two lumps of coal looking back at him. It still managed to make him shiver. 

"Have you ever fallen off the wagon?" Dean questioned menacingly. Sam was almost taken aback by the randomness of the inquiry. "Sorry, didn't catch that. How about you be a good boy and speak?"

Good boy? Pfft. He can go _**fuck**_ himself.

"You mean-- demon blood? What? No! Fuck you!" There was a sting at Dean's almost-sounded-like assumption. Of course he never fell off the wagon! Not after-- okay, there was no time to dwell on the past here. This was _now_. Which is exactly the time he needs to get the hell out of this place. Away from his brother. At least until he could get the upper hand. Which... in the situation he was in... It didn't look like that was happening anytime soon. Maybe Dean would slip up and he'd get a chance. Everyone slips up. No matter how good or, in this case, evil you are. 

"You have such a dirty mouth," Fuck, he almost _purred_ , sounding like an approving tone. That was the opposite of what Sam wanted right now. Or ever. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He didn't like where this was headed.

There was a soft _shing_ and a shiny, impossibly sharp blade was unsheathed from the holster on his hip, riding one of his belt loops. How did Sam miss that? Too busy panicking, maybe. Well, it's not like it would have made a difference, anyway.

The knife wasn't huge, but it looked like it would do the trick. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he was fucked. His hazel hues darted around frantically as Dean approached him. Sam froze then, as Dean's blade rose, but it didn't come anywhere near him like he thought it was. Instead it slid across Dean's wrist. Red, irritated skin for a moment and then crimson beaded up along the thin line until it started to run down into Dean's hand. Sam swallowed, hard. It was true, he hadn't fallen off the wagon, but that didn't mean that he didn't want it again from time to time. He hadn't at all in the past few years. The apocalypse and all can kind of turn a guy off to that. 

"What are you--?" Sam couldn't get another word out before Dean was pressing his wrist into Sam's mouth, muffling the rest of his words. Sam's eyes widened and he struggled to get his head away, wriggling his body to find any leeway, see if anything would give. Nothing would, but jerked his head to the side, hot, thick liquid smearing across his maw and cheek. "Dean, no! Stop!" But that didn't stop him. 

"Stay." Dean growled, a hand lacing in Sam's long hair and gripping harshly tight and yanking it back. "Still." The hand tightened and Sam hissed at the pain in his head. The wrist was shoved back in his immobile mouth. No matter how hard Sam clamped his lips together, the blood still seeped in. Oh god, it tasted fucking delicious. The metallic tang mixed with just the right amount of... of-- fuck, he couldn't think. It was just perfect. Hot and just freaking perfect. It went down so much easier than whisky ever had. Exactly what he's been needing. With all of the stress of finding Dean-- this was just what he needed. Something to ease everything. His eyes rolled back and closed, taking it. 

Talk about whiplash. Just seconds ago he was fighting it. How quickly that turned. 

"Drink up, baby boy," Dean encouraged softly, triumph obvious in that low tone of his. Now Sam was suckling at Dean's wrist. It was like a drop of water after traveling for days in a desert. So freaking great, but he needed so much fucking more. Every time Dean pulled away even a little, Sam sucked harder and harder to bring him back in. Sam heard the dark chuckle escape Dean's lips, but he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't open his eyes, only leaned more into Dean's split flesh. 

"Okay, okay, that's enough. Don't want you getting too strong, now," Dean laughed and pulled his arm back, taking Sam's fix with him. No, no, no, he needed that! No--. 

What was he thinking?! _No, you don't need that, Sam. No, you were clean. Clean for so freaking long_. "I'm not-- I'm not an addict anymore," Sam shook his head, feeling the blood on his mouth run down the sides of his face, trailing warm, but leaving him cold. Some pooled in the shell of his ears. 

So _stupid_! You were going to go to law school, for fuck's sake! Get a hold of yourself! 

"Once an addict, always an addict." Dean said simply, flashing his little brother a grin. "You can't escape it. Learned that the hard way," 

"Fuck. You." Sam spat. He fought the urge to lick his lips. Oh god, and what a fucking urge that was. 

"Nah," Dean shook his head, his wound closing up, wiping his hand on his pants. He looked up with hooded eyes over to Sam. "I'd rather fuck you." 

Sam froze, his eyes widening. Had he heard him right? No, he didn't. It's the blood. The shock to his system must be warping his reality. 

"No, you heard me right," Dean grinned. Holy hell, did the Mark suddenly give him telepathy or some shit? "Just like when were kids, 'member, Sammy?" 

_Yes. How the fuck could I forget?_ "No." Memories he suppressed for years surfaced. Ones Dean himself had told him to bury and never dig up. _Ever_. 

"Oh, well _**I**_ do." Dean stepped forward, dark emerald eyes boring holes into Sam's own hazel hues. Sam averted his gaze, but it always came back to Dean. "We used to hump like rabbits, Sammy. Soon as you hit puberty and you kept coming in your pants, always desperate for something, _anything_ to jerk off to." 

"Stop--Dean," Sam begged. 

"Remember the way I used to have to cup my hand over that fuckable maw of yours to keep you quiet? _'Gotta be quiet, baby boy. You're gonna wake up Dad.'_ God, and John'd be in the next room. Thin walls. Sound familiar?" 

"Dean!" Sam was clawing at the cot, shaking his head. That was him and _Dean's_ time, not him and this... thing's time. This wasn't his brother. Nope, nope, nope. He tried to block his brother's voice out, but it wasn't working. Not at all. He just kept going and going and-- 

"How about when you were sixteen," Dean began with a sinister grin. Oh, no. Sam knew _exactly_ where this was headed. "When I took your virginity?" Dean inquired. "More like you gave it to me on a silver platter, the way you were bent over and spread out so nice for me. Head layin' against the pillow, hips propped up in the air by your knees on those beautiful legs," A hand landed on Sam's thigh as this was said, making him flinch. "So ready for me like a good boy. Legs spread so wide for me. Remember when you practically begged me to flip you over and fuck you? Freakin' half-way through screwing that hole of yours and you were already gettin' sappy. Wanting to what? Be able to see me when I came? 'Look into my eyes' while we 'made love'?" Dean mocked, chuckling darkly. _Ouch_. Add that to the list of hurt in Sam's already aching heart. He felt so stupid. Fuck Dean. No, no. This wasn't Dean. This wasn't the man he gave his virginity to. Then Dean lulled his head back, like it was one of his fondest memories. "God, you were so fucking _tight_ , Sammy." He looked to Sam who was shutting his eyes, forcing them harshly together, and even then he could still feel Dean's emerald gaze on him. "Bet you still are. Bet you haven't let anyone fuck that tight little hole of yours since. Because you know it's _**mine**_. I own that hole. I own that sexy mouth of yours. I own your entire body." He paused. "I own _you_." 

Sam couldn't speak. His body was still rigid with shock. Graphic images suppressed for years came spiraling up and clusterfucking his mind. As if they were trying to make up for lost time. He wanted to say that he didn't own him, that nobody owned him, but he couldn't say a word. Nothing left his lips.

"Best get some shut-eye, baby brother," Dean finally spoke, the teasing glint in his eye returning and taking the edge off of his stare. He straightened beginning to walk to the door. "You're gonna need it," With a flick of his finger, the lights overhead shut off and once Dean stepped out and shut the door, darkness completely enveloped the room, save for the strip of light under the door Sam could barely see with the little bit he could lift his head, but that soon went away, too. 

"Hey, wait!" Sam shouted after him. Well, nothing came out. Neither did: "You... you can't just leave me in here!" 

Especially not after _that_. Putting him through reliving all of those memories.

But he stopped. Instead of screaming after his 'brother', he stayed silent, knowing it was no use. He needed to concentrate on getting the fuck out of there. But how?

There was no where to run or hide. He'd be thinking Dean'd be saving him from his captor right now, but then he'd remember Dean _was_ his captor. 

Now, Dean had never raped him. Never. Everything they did was completely consensual. Sam completely gave himself to Dean, in every way, shape, and form and would have given him more if Dean had asked. In any other situation, those would have been fond memories, besides the fact that Dean, _his_ Dean, kept drilling it into his head that what they did was wrong. That it should never happen again. That Sam just needed to forget it and move on. Get a girlfriend, have fun, fuck her, and get the hell over it. 

It made his skin crawl thinking about it now-- with the way it sounded when Dean said it all aloud. 

Sam didn't know when, but, drying-blood covering his mouth and partially along his face and all, he somehow managed to drift off. He just remembered the urge to lick his lips kept on fading and fading until it was nonexistent.


	2. Hooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy flashback at the beginning of this one. _Shadows_ by Red. 
> 
> Skips around a bit here and there, doesn't go day-to-day for the story's progress' sake.

_Sam wrapped his arms around the toned waist of his older brother from behind as they stood in front of a mirror. "Hey, De." He murmured, burying his head into Dean's back, right in between his shoulder blades. A frown marred Sam's sixteen year old lips as he felt Dean tense in his arms._

_"Sam..." It sounded like a warning. Sam raised his head and looked at Dean in his reflection in the mirror._

_"What is it?" Sam inquired and as if to answer, Dean twisted out his grasp. "Dean,"_

_"We can't do this anymore." He said with finality, not facing Sam as he leaned over the counter in front of them, gripping the edges._

_"Do what?" Sam laughed, cocking his head to the side. He was genuinely confused. "All I was doing was holding you. I do that all of the time--"_

_"Yeah? Well, maybe you should **stop**." Dean snapped, sending a pointed look to Sam's reflection, one that made the boy shrink, hunch his shoulders and look away. What had gotten into him? After what they did? That was supposed to make them closer, not tear them apart. "What we did? We--" _

_"We made love." Sam filled in innocently._

_"We **fucked** , Sammy. Not... we didn't 'make love', 'kay?" Dean sighed heavily and Sam felt his cheeks heat up. And not in the good way like they had a couple days ago. When he was spreading his legs for Dean. God, the way his brother was looking at him. Like he was taking him apart to see what made him, him. Now his eyes were the lid keeping Sam impossibly put together. Like a can of pressurized air. Sam's chest lurched. "We went too far. We're brothers, Sammy, we can't do things... like... like..." He was struggling to find the right words. _

_"Fuck?" Sam inquired with a bitter niceness to his tone, hurt clear as day in his eyes. He didn't bother hiding it, not from Dean. Sam turned, arms crossed over his chest, and left the bathroom._

_"Sammy..." He heard Dean groan. "Baby boy, wait,"_

_Sam didn't stop. But there weren't many places on could go to hide in a motel room. He stomped over to his bed, one he hadn't slept in the whole time they'd been here (he was too busy being in Dean's to find time for his own) and laid down, facing away from the main half of the room, away from where Dean padded into. The footsteps got closer on the creaky floor and then stopped not too far from Sam. When he peeked over, he realized that Dean was right there behind him. He jerked back and continued staring straight ahead, a frown marring his lips, arms still crossed over his chest (although now they were hugging him, since his usual source of comfort when he was hurting was the **reason** he was hurting. _

_"Hey," Dean cooed. Fuck Dean. He wasn't a fucking baby. The bed sunk down behind him, indicating that Dean sat down. A hand landed on Sam's shoulder, but, against his instincts, shook it off without subtly, all quickness._

_"Go away," Sam ordered stubbornly, burning his face in his pillow as he felt stinging in his eyes. Stupid teenage hormones. God, he couldn't wait until he was older. No more uncontrollable hormones and he could get the hell out of here. Out of this life. Away from John._

_Away from **Dean**. _

_"C'mon, baby bro, don't be like that," Dean begged softly from overhead._

_Sam buried his head deeper as a first response, only pulling his head up some to speak. "Be like what?" Sam snapped then, snapping his head around to look at Dean who looked surprised at Sam's pointed glare. Maybe it was the tears in his eyes. stupid salt water. "Hurt because you're treating me like come clingy morning-after?" He snarled weakly, keeping his voice low so there was less of a chance of it cracking. That seemed to get the point across to Dean. "How about you go fuck yourself." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an obvious I-don't-want-to-talk-to-you-right-now-so-go-away._

_"Watch your mouth," Dean growled._

_"Watch yours and I'll watch mine," Sam countered sharply. "I'm sixteen, anyway-- quit trying to change the subject. If you're not going to **fuck** off-" He made sure he emphasized the 'fuck', just to piss off Dean. "-at least refrain from going off into shit that doesn't matter." He huffed, going on. "What's your problem, anyway? Wasn't like you were acting this way after you took my virginity." Sam snapped, basking in the way Dean flinched at his words._

_Sam had fucked before. He was always the one doing the fucking instead of receiving the fucking, and it was never with a guy, either. His hole was untouched up until Dean came along._

_"It was wrong of me to... to do that, Sammy," Dean looked at Sam somberly, making Sam want to feel bad for him, but him being stubborn, forced the feeling down. "We're brothers. Brothers aren't supposed to do those kinds of things with each other."_

_"Why?" Sam asked. "We love each other-- or at least I **thought** we did," Another flinch from Dean, but Sam went on before Dean could protest. "You've been acting all funny lately. I don't understand what's so wrong about it. I thought what we did was..." He searched for the right word._

_"Beautiful." Dean found it for him, draping his hand over Sam's hip. This time Sam didn't try to shrug it off._

_"Yeah, and I consented to it--"_

_"You were too young," Dean started and went on after receiving a puzzled look from Sam. "Too young to give consent. When we first started... **this**." He gestured back and forth between the two of them. "You're still too young to know what you really want. You're jus' confused, Sammy. All we've had is each other all these years, I understand, and you're just confusin' one feeling for another. You don't love me like that, Sammy."_

_"Yes, I d--" Sam was cut off._

_"No, you don't." Dean said sternly. There was a long pause and Sam shifted uncomfortably._

_"... Would Dad be angry?" Sam questioned softly, almost afraid of the answer._

_Dean audibly swallowed and averted his gaze, running a hand down his face. "Mh--" His voice wavered and so he turned his head, to the front of him, opposite of Sam, and nodded. "Very," He just barely got out over a choked whisper._

_Dread crept into Sam's pain filled chest at Dean's confirmation. Dean had always told him to be quiet when they were rutting against each other in the past, so he could've guessed that John wouldn't be too happy, but... He doesn't really know what he was expecting. Not really, anyway._

_"So I need you to keep this to yourself, 'kay Sammy?" Dean managed, peeking over at Sam with glossy emerald eyes. "I'm sorry,"_

_Sam nodded._

***

Sam jolted awake, crying out in the pain that suddenly shot up through his sore body. "Fuck!" He shouted, wincing at the way something pulled at the skin around his mouth, like something liquid had hardened. Well, he wasn't wrong. It was the remnants of yesterday's... trip. The blood had long dried and now sat uncomfortably on Sam's face. The dream wasn't even... scary. Sure, it was terrible. It wasn't even really a dream, though. A memory. One he had long hidden away. But all of the things to dream about, and it had to be that.

It was dark and Sam was laying down. Pitch black. He wouldn't be able to see his hand in front of his face if he held it there and if he wasn't restrained. It didn't take long for him to remember how he got here. The details were a blur, but he got the gist. Dean had him cuffed to a cot of some sort, Dean was a demon, and whatever he had planned for Sam was _not_ going to be pleasant. 

_In. Out. In. Out._

Sam had to remind himself to breathe. Finally, his breathing regulated. He uselessly tugged at the restraints, as if seeing if any of them miraculously loosened so he could get free, but to no avail, all of them were as tight, if not tighter, than before. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, just staring up at the ceiling. He thought about the room, if there were any other places to get out of. It was too dark, so he had to us his memory. Well, that was until the door screamed loudly, indicating someone was coming in. It was no surprise that when the light flipped on (and Sam's eyes adjusted), that Dean was there, standing in front of the now closed door, a menacing grin painting his lips as he approached the cot. 

Sam didn't bother squirming. It wasn't going to do anything but rub his wrists and ankles rawer than they already were. 

"Good morning," Dean stopped at the left side of the cot, staring down at Sam whose jaw clenched, but he didn't speak. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," 

"More like dungeon, asshole," Sam snapped, not liking the way the dried blood felt as he talked. He wasn't about to ask Dean to wipe it off, because he had a feeling Dean had plans of suffering in store for him, so remedying his discomfort probably wasn't the highest point on Deanmon's to do list. 

"That mouth of yours as sharp as ever," Dean murmured with a wide grin, looking Sam shamelessly up and down, making the taller man feel violated. "Hungry?" 

Sam didn't answer, only glared at the his brother, wanting (again) to punch that smug smile off of his face. 

"... Thirsty?" Dean inquired with a sly smirk. Sam knew he wasn't talking about water. Or soda. Or even tea. 

More blood. 

Come to think of it, he really was. His stomach lurched in his abdomen at the thought, and in the longing way, not the disgusted way like it should have. Sam's mouth watered at the thought. "No." 

"Sure you don't," Dean chuckled and shook his head and began circling the cot like before. "Won't be long now before you start begging for your fix."

"One slip up won't do that," Sam snapped. "I'm not _that_ weak." Although he wasn't so sure. He caught himself looking down at Dean's wrist from time to time, occasionally at his neck, imagining being able to heard the steady thumping of his heart pushing that delicacy through his veins. 

Stop. Stop. No, Sam. Stop that.

_Shing._

"Maybe not just yet." Dean flashed Sam a grin and the same knife from yesterday he pulled from the holster riding his belt loop, sliding it once again across his wrist. "But you will." 

Oh god. 

 

***

 

Dean force feeding Sam demon's blood, _his_ blood, went on for what felt like forever. It got to a point where Sam didn't fight it. And then he started to really crave it. Need it. His body ached for it. Dean even made him beg for it once, as if testing Sam and his restraint. Apparently, Sam had none, because he was begging for it like some kind of junkie. Which he was. He was no better than the addicts walking the streets willing to do anything and everything for their fix. Fuck, Sam'd do anything to get his. The timing of the feeding remained the same everyday. Dean would come in, tease him, insult him, slice himself open, and shove his wrist in Sam's mouth. Sam didn't even care about what Dean said to him anymore, it was like all he could think about is what happened _after_ the speech Dean always gave. Sam's mouth would water with anticipation. The food and water Dean gave him to keep him alive didn't even appeal to him as much. He'd much rather have the blood coursing through Dean's veins as opposed to the salad Dean would have to feed him. 

He wasn't hooked, no. No, he wasn't hooked. He was just having... cravings? Okay, who was he kidding? He wasn't some pregnant chick (or, at least, he would hope not), he was hooked. Dean had him wrapped around his little finger. Sam remembered before, when it was the other way around.

Fuck, he _needed_ it. Dean would take his wrist back just before Sam would get enough to tide him over until the next morning. Or whatever time of day it was. Sam couldn't tell in this cell. Dean would even wipe the blood from his face and mouth after, as if to make sure Sam wouldn't get a drop more than what he gave him. 

Stingy jerk. 

Sam barely gave a shit when Dean cut him out of his shirt, with that same knife that had spilled that delicious blood of his. Nor when Dean would occasionally kiss him, hard and rough, teeth clashing and hungry. 

"You're looking better, Sammy," Dean praised, but it was more of an observation than the former. Dean put a hand on Sam's now bare chest, and the other came up to touch Sam's face. He didn't move out of the way. He didn't wriggle. He didn't do any of that. All Sam did was swallow hard, the close proximity of his favorite drug so close. "You're definitely fuckable." He paused, a grin that still sent an uncomfortable chill to Sam's core spread across Dean's lips. Fuckable? God, Sam didn't like this whole slow-burn, writhing (and not in the good way) in anticipation. "Not like you weren't before." He shrugged, running a hand through Sam's long, floppy chestnut hair. It was oily from not having bathed in days. Dean must have come to this realization. "But you're going to need a bath first, you smell,"

"No shit." 

Smack. 

Sam's head jerked to the side as Dean's hand came across his left cheek. Fuck, _ow_. "You need to learn how to control that smart mouth of yours." Dean nearly growled in warning, eyes blinking coal black before returning back to the emerald that Sam had grown to loathe. Dean didn't regularly hit him (with menace) before, but Sam had started to accept that this wasn't his brother. Well, it _was_ , but it wasn't. 

"Well excuse the fuck out of me!" Sam snapped, glaring up at Dean. He had an urge to clutch his stinging cheek, but all that happened was a pull of his restraints and a pain shooting up through his body. "Keeping me like- like, _this_ ," Sam gestured to the rest of his body with a movement of his head and a sweep of his andalusite hues. "Yeah, I'm going to smell bad after awhile," 

Sam's neck ached and his body hurt from lack of movement. He wished desperately that Dean would let him shift his position, he'd even let those godforsaken leather straps be put back on him without a word of protest. His neck hurt from how Dean would have to feed him, Sam craning his neck up to eat and drink whatever Dean graced him with. His ears hurt from water pooling in them each time he took a drink. God, and when he had to, ya know... when nature calls, nature calls. Dean had a less-than dignified way of taking care of that. It was like he was in a damn hospital after breaking all of his bones or something. 

He almost felt like it, anyway. 

Dean pulled a syringe from his pocket and pulled off the cap. Sam swallowed hard. The hell was that for?! There was a pounding in his chest, one that hadn't been there in at least a couple of days (or visits-- who knew how long he'd actually been in there). As if sensing Sam's panic-- was he that obvious?-- Dean looked at Sam and smiled. 

"No worries, just a muscle relaxer," Dean assured. For some reason, Sam wasn't reassured. 

He shut his eyes tight and flinched as there was a sharp pain in the side of his neck, like a pricking sensation. Sam wriggled as it was pulled from his neck and he opened his eyes, flicking them over to Dean and then down to his body. What the hell was it doing to him? _Relaxing his muscles, his ' **pert** ' ass_. The wriggling slowly eased up, but it wasn't on Sam's accord. He pulled and thrashed, but his limbs barely moved. 

"What... what didyoudoto me?" Sam stumbled over his words, sounding drunk, like the muscles in his throat weren't cooperating, which they fucking weren't. God, and his head was all fuzzy. Now he couldn't move his body from the neck down at all. 

"It'll wear off in a couple of hours," Dean informed, but easily dodged the question. 

_Well, that makes everything better_ , Sam thought bitterly, not bothering to talk. It would come out in a slur anyway. Instead he glared at Dean who only smiled smugly in return. When the fuck did Dean learn about drugs? Especially one that could do _this_ to a person. 

Fucking Crowley. 

Fucking hell, it was like a holy choir was singing whenever Dean began undoing the leather cuffs binding him to that cot. Sam could feel everything, but he couldn't move. Fuck, that was a fast acting drug. He wished he could enjoy his new found freedom, but he found himself trapped in another restraint, and something as simple as a certain liquid running through his body. He wanted so bad to stretch his limbs, but that obviously wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. A least not for a _couple of hours_. And by then Sam was sure he'd be back on the cot. 

A cloth was tied around his head, blocking his vision. Probably didn't want him knowing his way around. Not like Sam could protest in any way. 

Deanmon seemed to have quite a bit more strength that Sam's Dean. He scooped Sam's limp body up like it was nothing, carrying him bridal style out of the room, even able to balance Sam on him while he opened doors. There was a thud that sounded like metal on metal, then a creaking, and then a slam of the door (or what he assumed to be). He was blindfolded, so he couldn't be too sure, but it's the only thing that made sense. 

Sam was soon enough placed in something hard and smooth-- acrylic or fiberglass, maybe-- like a... like a tub. Yeah, a tub. His head laid against the edge of the tub, and his legs had to bend some because the tub wasn't big enough for him, but surprisingly bigger than what he would have expected. There was tugging and pulling sensation at his legs and he knew what came next-- off came his pants, along with his boxers, in one final fluid and controlled movement. Sam groaned in protest, but that was all he could manage. God, he felt helpless, and now, humiliated. 

Dean was about to give him a freaking _bath_. Sam couldn't even remember the last time Dean gave him a bath. What was he? Maybe five or six? Ugh, fuck this was embarrassing. His cheeks heated up with both anger and embarrassment, a churning sensation in his stomach. Dean was about to... _touch_ him. Old Dean? That would have been fine. This Dean? Fuck no. Sam couldn't even see for fuck's sake. 

And on came the rushing sound of water, soon accompanied by warm water touching his sensitive skin, starting at the top and then stopping as it reached his hips, a soft dripping noise following into the silence the halt of rushing water provided. 

"See," _I don't want to not be able to see while you're touching me. It's not like I can do anything about it anyway, but I'd like to know what you're about to do before you do it, or at least get a general idea_. "Pl-ea-ease," Sam barely managed in a slur. He couldn't get out much more then that. There was a clicking noise, a pause, and then a clicking noise. Like opening and closing a bottle maybe. Probably. 

"Sorry, baby boy, but not right now," Dean apologized without conviction. Sam could almost _hear_ the grin curving at his lips. "I just want you to feel and hear right now." 

_Oh god, I'm gonna fucking die here_ , Sam thought with horror and a tad bit of distress... Okay, a lot of distress. He wanted out of here. He wanted _his_ Dean to touch him, not _this_. The man he grew up with, not this shell he's become.

A hand was on his leg then, wrapping around his calf and hauling it up to set on denim, Dean's knee Sam assumed, and he then felt Dean's calloused hands work up and down his leg, presumably soaping it up. Sam would have shuddered, but he couldn't, only sank involuntary into the tub a bit more to accommodate the shift of his position Dean induced by grabbing his leg. 

"Remember that case up in Idaho when we were kids?" Came Dean's voice filtering through the eerie silence, save for dripping water and shifting. "After that salt and burn? Dad was off and we were going to take care of it ourselves?" Sam didn't say anything. He didn't really want to to begin with, much less now that his replies were slurred. Sam knew where he was going and there was a lump that formed in his throat. He still wasn't immune to Dean's verbal torment, at least when he was level headed and not thinking about Dean's blood or drinking it. "We had that nice motel room all to ourselves. Slept in one bed. What were you, fifteen?" 

"Anyway. Couldn't even keep your hands off of me, rutting into my side. You thought you were slick, but I knew exactly what you were doing." Sam could still hear that grin in his voice. "'Specially that little whimper at the end, when you came in your underwear. ' _Dean_ '," He mimicked, making Sam frown. 

"Would've touched you like you wanted, ya know. All you had to do was ask," Dean said simply, placing Sam's right leg back in the tub and pulling up his left, starting to work on that one. "Or beg in that way you always did. How'd it go?" Oh no. "' _C'mon, De, pl-ease. Need you to make me feel good, please. Please, please, please_ ," He mimicked, trying to hold back a chuckle. Sam's cheeks flushed. "All the while you're groundin' into me, or if ya were in front of me layin' down or even standing if you were horny enough durin' the day, jutting your hips out into mine and grind that sweet ass of yours against my dick like the cock-slut you were for me." 

Anger boiled inside of Sam. He wanted to say some snarky remark, but he knew none of it would get to him. Not in the way he wanted. He'd probably just get hit again. Plus, he was tired. Didn't think that he was going to be able to stay awake through this entire bath. Not with how slowly he was washing each limb. 

"Are you still that little cock hungry slut you were back then?" Dean questioned, and it was startlingly closer than before, his hot breath making his skin prickle along his neck. Sam swallowed. At least, as much as he could. 

The hot breath ceased and Dean went back to quietly cleaning Sam. All until he got to his groin, which he grabbed his half-hard cock (clearly not getting the memo he was paralyzed) as if that were a normal thing to be doing (and it definitely _wasn't_ , and definitely not cool, especially not according to Sam). All Sam could do was whimper a protest. He couldn't even flinch. "This right here?" He gave it a tug and Sam groaned. " _This_. This is _mine_." He released it and Sam sighed with relief. "Over the course of the next few days, I'm going to make damn sure you know that." 

Sam's head got heavier and he could barely keep his eyes open, as if having them open did anything under the cloth. It was more habit and shock that he still had them open. 

"Then the rest of you after that. Gonna make sure you know who you belong to," 

A hand ran up his chest, one that could be none other than Dean's. His eyes closed. 

"Who you've always belonged to." 

Sam finally drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to be editing this throughout the day. Just wanted to give you guys a little something something. 
> 
> Some real smutty smutness is coming (lol) in the next chapter. Prepare your eyes.


	3. Fix Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV at the beginning to get some insight on some AUed things. 
> 
> Smut is most definitely in this chapter. Zero to eighty kinda smut, so prepare your beautiful eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took awhile to get this one out. I apologize. The next one will hopefully come (LOL) much sooner than this one. 
> 
> I will most likely be going back to editing this off and on throughout the next couple of days as I work on the next chapter (a lot of this was done on my phone so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors, sometimes autocorrect isn't my friend).

Dean had spent most of his days after waking up a demon in bars and random motels with random women that he couldn't remember the names of next morning. He'd get kicked off stage. He got in trouble strip clubs by being a bit too handsy with the girls on stage and then get a bit too rough with the bouncer. In his defense, the song _wasn't_ over. 

Then Sam found him. 

He felt something again. Not the cliche love, like Sam broke him out of some sort of spell purely out of their abiding love for each other. It was more... a thrill. Something palpable in a world that no longer felt real to him. Something to keep him grounded and keep from going completely dark-side. Don't get him wrong, he was still a bad guy. Just as fucked up as the next demon, maybe even worse with that damn Mark on his arm. He was a Knight of Hell. Crowley's wing man. As crazy as it seemed, he became everything that he and his little brother had tried so hard ridding the world of. 

Maybe Dean did feel a little more than a thrill when he was with his Sammy. Old him seemed to stir inside of him, sing with approval every time he was with Sam. Whenever he'd hurt Sam, he could feel his old self fume and twist inside of him with rage. The first few days, this new Dean loved the feeling, causing someone distress. Old him hated every moment of it. 

It was like he _was_ possessed. Dean was having an internal fight almost constantly now. Dark side was getting harder and harder to keep at bay. Or maybe it was the other way around. Dean couldn't really tell anymore for sure. All he knew was that it wasn't bringing him the same pleasure doing the things he was doing to Sam. 

Perhaps he just needed to kick it up a notch. 

_Or two._

When Dean gave Sam a bath (aside from drugging him), old him was content. Until he grabbed Sam's dick, of course. But other than those two things, old him was as quiet as he was before Sam found him. 

Old him was still rattling around inside of him, commenting on everything he did. Anything good. Bad. 'Specially bad. At least, now that he was on high alert with his Sammy around. Bringing up memories in hopes to steer this Dean into a different direction. This Dean didn't care too much for the constant pestering, making everything he did to his little brother seem like the most horrible things (not like new him gave a shit, but a persistent reminder wasn't fun). 

Memories would surface, thanks to old him. Like when Dean first shoved his sliced open wrist into Sam's mouth for the first time, old Dean would filter in the images of the last time Sam was addicted-- more specifically when he was going through withdraw and he was being flung around the panic room, when his body was contorting and convulsing in pain. As if this Dean cared. 

Okay, he was a demon. Not soulless. Sometimes old him got the desired reactions from this him. Or the pleasure he once took in seeing Sam writhe with agony or blood lust would dissipate and he'd need more to keep him satisfied. 

This Dean didn't know why Old Dean tried. He was just making it worse on his precious Sammy. 

Dean carried Sam's limp body back to the room he kept him in, or in Sam's words, a ' _dungeon_ '. He wasn't completely wrong, Dean supposed. He laid Sam temporarily back on the cot as he ventured back out (Sam was out for the count with that drug still in his system) to get the tools he was going to be using in the next few days.

Once he got back to the room, pushing a metal tray-on-wheels in front of him. He laid everything out on it, a few of the things he'd be using with Sam and on Sam for the next few days. Dean wanted to keep a few things he was planning on using a secret. 

"You're gonna love this one, Sammy," Dean murmured under his breath with a smirk as he held up a rather large vibrator, examining it. He knew Sam couldn't hear him; he was still passed out and sprawled across the cot. Dean hadn't slapped the leather cuffs back on him just yet because he was going to move him. 

_No, he won't,_ growled a voice in his head. The source was livid, absolutely trembling with rage. 

" _Yes_ , he will," Dean snapped back to the voice in his head audibly. 

_Leave Sammy out of this. Go buy a hooker for a few hours or something. Leave my brother the **hell** alone!_ , it snapped. 

"Sure," Dean said softly, calmly, but the hope the other source of thought in his head that had flared up at the words diminished whenever a wicked grin curved at his lips. "When I get bored,"

There was a pang of horror and disgust that filled him, though they weren't exactly all _his_ emotions. Well, they were, but not this new him. It was protests from the remnants of the old him that still resonated inside of him. Before it was easier to keep under wraps due to the inactivity of his old self. Having a self-destructive nature engraved in his DNA, he didn't care how many bars this Dean went to, how much he drank, how many women he objectified. 

He drew the line at his Sammy.

Nobody touches his baby boy but _him_.

It was sometimes confusing, deciphering between his old self and what he was now. It was all still _him_ , but Dean believed that him becoming a demon brought out the worst while his good was, still there, but tucked away.

He ignored it. 

This Dean was in control now. The one brandished by the Mark. 

Dean was gonna make Sam his. _Really_ his. And by the time he was done with him, everyone would know it, too. 

 

*** 

 

Sam woke up, but he didn't open his eyes, not at first. His body was heavy-- heavier than usual. The urge to stretch out and move about was almost overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as the need for his fix. It washed over him like a freezing splash of Arctic water and then a trail of man-made fire in its' wake. Sam's stomach lurched inside of him and twisted and remembered that yesterday he didn't get any. Not even a drop. He couldn't remember all of yesterday's (or however long ago it was since the last time he was conscious) events for the most part. All he knew was he hadn't had a single droplet of Dean's blood and now he was feeling sick with want, nearly writhing in the position he was in, which he then realized was strange. 

He was no longer laying down. There was something hard against him, but it felt more like a wall, and he moved and he could press off of it and sit upright. There was an itch on his nose and he went to scratch it, but he couldn't. All he heard was the jingle of chains and felt the pull of his arms behind him, as well as his legs. He instead jutted out his shoulder a bit and scratched his nose like that, realizing that he still didn't have a shirt on. Come to think of it, he felt cold. There was definitely a breeze. Was he... was he, _naked_? He pulled again at his arms, wincing at the tenderness to his wrists, and now, his knees and ankles. It induced a whimper-- a muffled one, making him realize that there was something in his mouth-- and he opened his eyes finally, realizing with unpleasantness that the lights were on, sending a spike of pain through his head. 

"You awake, Sammy?" Dean's voice came and, for a moment, the briefest of moments, Sam felt calm. Good. His Dean was here. His Dean was going to save him from this place. 

Why was he in this place? Who kidnapped him? 

Oh, right. Dean. Good feeling gone. Completely and utterly dissipated into nothing. 

"Fuck, baby boy. You look so pretty like that," Came Dean's voice again. 

Finally, Sam's vision focused and he could look around the room, frowning a bit at the pull on his face. Whatever was in his mouth was strapped around his head and pulled incredibly taut. Whatever was in his mouth wasn't a rag, but something more... rubbery perhaps? It wasn't round, so it wasn't a ball gag, thank fuckin' God. Hopefully whatever Dean was planning on doing to him wasn't going to be too bad. Maybe Sam would be able to leave here and still think of his brother the same as before. 

Maybe-- _probably_ not. 

Sam's eyes landed on a figure approaching him, being no other than Dean, his brother. Or whatever he was now. Demon. Knight of Hell. Crowley's drinking buddy. Dean stopped about a foot from him, and considering Sam's compromising position, that wasn't very far away. Sam was sitting on back on his haunches on the backs of his legs that were tucked under him as he was on his knees. His arms were immobile behind him, and judging by the jingle and clanging of chains, that was exactly what was keeping them there behind him. Especially the hard brace that enveloped his wrists and ankles. Looking down, he realized he wasn't _completely_ naked. But was even more horrified at the realization on the one, single article of clothing on his body. Dread filled him.

Silky, and not to mention _lacy_ white panties. Sam didn't know how he didn't feel them before. They were tight as all hell and hugged his ass and was left with an almost embarrassing bulge. He wasn't even all that hard, but the panties strained against his length anyhow. 

Okay, maybe he wasn't going to leave here being able to see his brother the same way ever again. 

Dean was holding something in his left hand. Before he could get a good enough look at it to guess, it was held up in front of him, revealing plainly what it was. A handheld mirror. Just big enough for Sam to see himself. 

"Wouldn't you agree?" Dean simpered. 

If Sam thought it was bad before, it was nothing compared to what he actually looked like. Starting off, his hair looked fine. Like he himself did it, not Dean. His eyes were... jaded. There were purple circles around his eyes, telling Sam just how badly hooked he really was. What really sent a violent shudder through his body was when he reached his mouth. He would have preferred a ball gag over this. 

It was a gag, similar to a ball gag he supposed, but it was blue and shaped like a bone. A fucking bone. Like he was a damn dog or some shit. 

"You son of a bitch!" Sam shouted but all that came out were a clusterfuck of muffled sounds, eliciting a calm and pleased laugh from Dean. 

"I knew you'd like it," Dean announced.

He couldn't even think of what to say even if he could speak. Sam's entire body flushed. God, he was humiliated. Dean seeing him like this? Dread and embarrassment returned in such a way that it left him in a daze. One that made him have to lean into the wall again. 

There was another amused laugh that left his brother's lips. "You alright there, Sammy?" There was no concern behind his words, nothing put sheer pleasure at Sam's expense. 

"Fuck." Sam's words were muffled, but he enunciated to the best of his ability, to get his point across. "You." 

"Like I've said before," A sinister grin crept across Dean's lips as he knelt down in front of Sam, leaning in dangerously close. Sam stiffened and his breathing hitched. "-I'd much rather fuck _you_ ," 

A noise escaped Sam from around the gag as Dean, and not so gently, grabbed Sam dick. Through the dainty fabric, of course. "My little bitch," Dean breathed. Sam couldn't help but think that was a reference to the bone-gag in his mouth. His bitch. Wearing fucking panties. God, this was beyond humiliating. Having his brother chain him up, gag him, and put him in some of the most dainty panties he's ever seen, not to mention grab his half-hard dick.

Apparently Sam's dick had a mind of it's own because as Dean started to rub him through his-- his _panties_ , he could feel the rush of blood to his dick. He was fucking terrified and all his dick could do-- 

"So pretty," Dean admired.

Sam groaned around the gag as Dean gave his hardening member a squeeze. "Picked these panties out special just for you," Dean breathed, and another squeeze before he soothed it with a small stroke. Oh, god, this was so fucked up. So very, _royally_ fucked up. "They make you look s'good, baby boy. Gonna have you wear 'em more often," Dean leaned in some more, pressing their foreheads together. Despite Dean's delicious scent, one that made Sam's stomach churn and twist with want, Sam tried to retreat, and succeeded as much as he could with what the situation allowed him to work with, ending up just rearing back enough to send a sharp pain throughout his body, the shackles easily beginning to rub him raw. 

Dean's other hand came up and gripped the back of Sam's head, jerking him back to where he wanted him, giving his dick a harsh squeeze that made Sam whimper. Ouch. 

"Did I say you could move?" Dean growled. When Sam didn't answer, he gave Sam's hair a hard tug, another whimper coming from Sam involuntarily. "Did I?" 

Sam shook his head. 

"You're gonna need to be a good boy for me if you want this," Dean grinned, releasing Sam's head (which he then kept still, no use in making it harder on himself right now), and then brought that hand to his mouth, baring his teeth, and then biting down. Just enough for to break the skin in some areas and for blood to bead up, aligning with his teeth. The metallic-mixed-with-sweetness scent filled Sam's nose. Fuck, the smell alone could get someone hooked. Since Sam already was, his mouth watered. He salivated over the bone gag in his mouth, even more than he already had (it's kind of hard to swallow with something in your mouth), and he felt some escape his mouth and run from the right corner of his mouth, some trailing down to his chin. 

Well, if Sam wasn't hard before, he sure as hell was now. 

"Are you gonna be a good boy, Sammy?" Dean questioned, bringing his hand close to Sam's face. Sam nearly bucked, but he didn't. 

Instead he nodded. 

The _fuck_ was wrong with him? Hell no, he wasn't going to be a 'good boy'. Not so this shell of a person he used to know could just have at him. Do whatever he pleases. Sam wasn't just going to lie down and take it, if he could help it. Which, for the most part, seemed like he wouldn't be able to help it. He couldn't hardly move for fuck's sake! 

"Good." Dean's emerald eyes darkened, not demon-dark, but just enough to send a chill down Sam's spine and distract him from the blood for a bit. The wound healed up. Dean wasn't going to let him drink just yet. But he brought his hand back to his own mouth and slowly licked the blood off, going back with his other hand, stroking Sam through the silky material. 

"Please, D-e-an," Sam moaned muffled. His stomach twisted painfully and he groaned. He _needed_ Dean. Not the stroking. Not his attempts and succeeds at humiliation, but the blood coursing through his veins. Dean would barely give him enough to start with, just enough to leave him unsatisfied and wanting more. And good Jesus fucking Christ, did he want more. He knew the reason behind it though; he didn't want Sam getting too powerful. Too strong. Right now he felt weak, both physically and emotionally, and helpless, again both physically and emotionally. 

"Mmm, that's right, baby boy. I wanna hear you beg for it," 

_Then why the hell did you put a gag in my mouth?_ Sam thought bitterly, desperately. 

Dean just kept touching him. It felt good, great, but he wanted _his_ Dean doing it, not this one. Not like this, in this room. 

But Sam was glad that it wasn't his Dean at the same time. 

Sammy didn't want his big brother seeing him like this. 

***

_"Does this feel good, baby boy?" Dean grunted from above him. They were laying in bed-- well, not _just_ laying. Dean was over him, in between Sam's spread legs, just freaking rutting against him. Sam was writhing beneath him in all of the right ways. _

_Dean was eighteen and Sam was fourteen at this time. This wasn't the first time they'd done this. They did hump like rabbits, although they haven't gone all the way yet. And Dean won't kiss him. The only thing Dean would do is touch him if Sam asked first. Make him feel good. And he means /really/ good._

_Sam thought at the time when Dean wouldn't kiss him that it was his fault. That maybe Dean never really wanted him in that way. Later he realized that wouldn't make sense because Dean was always doing things for him and always made sure he was comfortable with whatever he was doing._

_"Yes! Fu--" Sam cut himself off mid-curse word. Dean didn't like it when he cussed and he didn't want to ruin this moment. But Jesus, was it hard to get a hold of himself; Dean rotating and grounding and rutting, it was amazing. "God, Dean, yes yes yes!"_

_Dean was groaning above him, deep and guttural. Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him; he liked to watch Sam, Dean admitted to him once after he asked why. Especially when he came-- Dean said he was pretty when he came. It used to make Sam blush from head to toe._

_It still does._

_He still had his boxers on, unlike the very naked Sam beneath him. The front of them were soaked with their precome, which Sam was pretty sure was going to be soaked with his actual load soon._

_Sam's dick was so hard it was throbbing. He bucked his hips up to meet Dean's. He was hard, too. God, the friction felt so good. _Dean_ felt so good. Sam wished Dean wasn't wearing his boxers; he craved the skin-on-skin contact, but he had to practically beg Dean to let him take his own off. _

_"T-tou-ch me, De-ean! Please!" Sam barely got out in gasps and moans, arching into his brother. He needed some skin-on-skin contact. Really freaking needed it. With Sam's begs and keens, Dean had no choice other than to comply and reach in between them. Since Sam was naked, all he had to do was wrap his hand around Sam's throbbing dick._

_"Sammy, baby boy, come for me," Dean breathed out and the warm feeling in Sam's stomach became overwhelming. He knew what was going to happen next-- that he was going to do exactly as Dean wanted. Not that he had a problem with it. Dean always knew how to make Sam feel good; a swipe of his thumb over the head of Sam's dick here, rubbing both of their dicks together there. Dean could do this thing with his--_

_Dean whispered more encouraging words that Sam heard but couldn't register. He was far too gone. "Dean!" Sam cried out, coming hard. He threw his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes, his hips bucking and convulsing. Dean rutted faster against him as Sam rode out his intense orgasm, Dean trying to catch up. By the time Dean finally came, groaning Sam's name, Sam was lying boneless beneath him; blissed-out._

_His big brother collapsed on top of him after riding out his own orgasm that left his boxers sopping wet with both of their semen. Sam didn't protest (even if he had had the energy to do so, he wouldn't've) being sandwiched in between the mattress and, more importantly, Dean. "You're so pretty, Sammy," Dean whispered affectionately into the crook of Sam's neck, making Sam flush a bright pink. He never knew what to say so that. _'Thanks'_? No. He just let it be, blushing like a freaking schoolgirl getting noticed by her crush._

_All too soon, Dean rolled off of him and laid equally boneless beside him._

_"I love you, De," Sam panted._

_It was silent for a moment, making Sam's heart race anxiously instead of just the physical labor (more or less Dean knocking his freaking socks off), in anticipation for reciprocation or rejection._

_Sam heard a shift and saw Dean move beside him and Sam was suddenly scooped up and pulled up against Dean. Sammy was pressed against his chest, where he didn't hesitate before nestling his head into the warm, tautness of it._

_"I love you, too, Sammy,"_

***

Sam wasn't pretty like this. 

This Dean was lying. His Dean would have never done any of this to him. Not then and certainly not now. 

"Moan for me, c'mon," Dean said lowly. Sam's whole body felt hot as Dean continued stroking him. Sam involuntarily complied What was Dean getting out of this? What was he planning on doing? Obviously with Dean being a demon, he probably couldn't give less of a fuck about Sam's pleasure. A thought entered Sam's mind. 

What if he still liked to watch? 

Sam took some strange, fucked-up comfort in that, arching up into Dean's hand and groaning around the gag as a warm feeling pooled in his stomach. Maybe it was because he thought that maybe there was still some of his Dean in the man touching him. "Moan for me-" Dean repeated, stroking him until the front of the silky material was soaked with Sam's precome and Sam was writhing under the mercy of his hand. "-I'll give it to you, c'mon,"

This Dean almost sounded like his Dean with the way he was talking to him, but Sam knew better. 'Specially with that last bit. Sam knew he didn't mean sex, but he was promising to give him his fix. If that wasn't a solid motivator to just let go, he didn't know what was. Moans came from him, around the gag, as he relaxed (as much as he could with chains restraining him from much movement). A hum of approval sounded from Dean's lips, and Sam could still feel his eyes on him, making him blush like when they were kids when he reopened his own eyes, being met with half-lidded, dark emerald hues. "You love me rubbing you through your pretty little panties, huh, Sammy?" Dean rasped. 

All Sam could do was nod a few times furiously, which Dean rewarded with a long, _hard_ stroke. 

"Dean!" Sam cried out, muffled as he threw his head back, coming just as hard as that day so long ago. If it weren't for the pain in his limbs, he would have fallen back as he came, instead he leaned against the wall for the blunt of it, sobbing as he rode out his orgasm. 

"There's my good boy," Dean breathed, continuing to stroke Sam through his orgasm, watching him intently.

Sam shuddered and his hips jerked until he was left completely boneless, slumping against the wall while he panted heavily, looking at Dean up through the haze of his hair now hanging in his face. 

The afterglow was a nice distraction from the obvious. Then guilt pooled inside of him, shame making his entire body flush. He buried his head into the wall, shutting his eyes, letting his hair fall some more to shield his face from Dean's view. His spit was all over the gag by this time, leaking out onto his lips and maw and running down to his chin. Dean was probably loving this; watching him twist with turmoil. Pinpricks invaded his eyes, salt water stinging them. Sam cursed mentally at himself.

Crying? Not in front of him. 

But he couldn't stop. His shoulders heaved and only worsened as the shackles rubbed harshly against his raw wrists and ankles.

He flinched as a hand came to his shoulder, expecting something... Un-Dean, but it wasn't. Dean's thumb rubbed up and down on the sensitive skin along his collarbone. It was almost a comforting gesture-- one that Sam leaned into, even--, but as soon as it had happened, it went away. Dean's gentle touch turned harsh, fingers digging into Sam's already sore shoulder, making him whimper, spit dripping from his chin and onto his naked leg. 

Sam's head was jerked up by his chin, Dean using his fingers to tilt it to look at him. When Sam made a noise halfway between that of a protest and a sob, and tried to move his head from Dean's grasp, Dean only gripping more of Sam's face with a tighter, almost bruising, grasp. Sam could feel it now, the tears trailing hot down his cheeks. Looking up into Dean's dark emerald gaze. It was so close to his Dean, but it was just wrong enough for Sam to notice. The bright glint to Dean's eyes, ones that reflected years of heartache and perseverance, it was gone. There was a dark undertone that made Sam shrink with fear-- which he never did. 

Dean's brow creased, the opposite of what Sam was expecting. He was waiting to see that wicked, sadistic grin spread along Dean's lips, the one that tinged his eyes in that way that sent a chill up Sam's spine, but it never came. 

Maybe he spoke too soon. 

A smirk adorned his features. "Crying just like our first time, huh?" Dean teased cruelly and Sam tried to dip his head as more tears pooled in his eyes and leaked down his cheeks, Dean's grip only tightening to keep Sam there. "Always thought that was _cute_." He chuckled. 

Sam just had to remind himself over and over again that this _wasn't_ _**his**_ Dean. An unpleasant swarm of overwhelming emotions attacked Sam's heart, making it lurch and his chest tight. All he could do was glare up at this new Dean, one that looked too much like his to be seen as anyone or any _thing_ else. He couldn't even do that right. Sam knew how pathetic he looked; bloodshot hazel eyes, blotchy tear-stained cheeks, slobbering all over himself, almost naked save for the come-stained panties and the shackles on his wrists and ankles. On his goddamn knees, for fuck's sake. 

Humiliation was the understatement of the century.

Silver flashed as Dean reached back to his holster, releasing Sam for the moment, and brandishing the same blade from before. The gnawing feeling in Sam's stomach he had ignored up until this point came hard and fast, eliciting a pain filled moan. 

Dean brought it to his arm, sliced it open, and held it out for Sam, just out of his reach as the chains snapped Sam back when he tried to lean forward towards it. "As promised," Dean smirked. He stood and moved around Sam, to a place Sam couldn't turn himself to really look at. Sam frowned-- as much as he could around the gag. He could see Dean kneeling down to his left flank. The scent hit Sam and everything else began to leave his mind blissfully. "There," Dean announced lowly as the gag was pulled off, a string of saliva coming from Sam's lips and pulling with the bone gag until it broke and then the spit-covered gag disappeared from Sam's field of vision. Sam moved his jaw a bit, opening and closing his mouth. It was sore. The smell of Dean's blood was overpowering everything else; the shame, humiliation-- 

"Here you go, baby boy," Dean murmured and wrapped an arm around Sam's neck, resting on his shoulder, his right, bleeding wrist right in front of Sam's mouth, pressing it to Sam's lips. 

The metallic, sweet, addictive crimson liquid bled into his mouth, washing over his tongue in the most delicious of ways. When it ran down his throat, the same sensation washed over him as the times it was cold outside and he was bundled up in a bunch of blankets that Dean would have gathered. Security. Safety. 

Sam's eyes rolled back and they closed.


	4. Conflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV at the beginning once more. Dipping a little further into the good side of Dean and what he's feeling. Not a whole lot of smut in this chapter, but prepare your assholes for what's 'coming' next.(;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot of smut, but hopefully you enjoy it anyhow!

Old Dean, the one trapped inside Deanmon's head, was livid by the time the thought of dainty little panties entered their mind. How _dare_ that son of a bitch even _think_ about putting his Sammy in those things. After kidnapping him, imprisoning him, forcing his demon blood and kisses on him, drugging and bathing him, chaining him up and slipping on a pair of lacy white panties, a gag shaped like a bone shoved into that pretty maw of his, touching him... It was all too much for Old Dean to register, to deal with. Far too much. 

It was his Dark Side, Mark of Cain side, that was doing this to Sam, not him. He couldn't control it, no matter how _hard_ he tried. 

But he still felt terrible, and the Dark Side of him, the one in control, knew it. Knew it damn well and used it to his advantage, as well as his own pleasure. 

But, fuck! That was _**his**_ Sammy, goddamnit! His and _no one_ else's. Especially not Dark him's. 

The way he was touching his Sammy, making him writhe under his fingertips that were no longer really _his_. It was like light and dark were battling inside of him constantly. Light was keeping up a good front, but was struggling not to get completely destroyed by the Dark. Fuck, Dean had had a lot of darkness eating up at him. The Mark hadn't helped, and him dying demolished any hope of getting back to the old him. The Light that was starting to amber inside of him. 

Light and dark sides? Fuck's sake, now he was comparing himself to a strip of duct tape. 

What killed him the most was when Sammy cried. 

The glossy quality to his eyes, red and bloodshot as tears fell down his cheeks. Slobbering all over himself as he tried to hide his face from him by burying it in the wall. Dean could practically smell the shame emanating off of his little brother. It wasn't his Sammy's fault this was all happening, but that was probably how he saw it. 

Sam would never be able to look at him like he used to. Even if Dean miraculously got in control of his body, if his demon side was cured _today_ , it was far too late. He'd humiliated his baby brother to the point of no return and what Deanmon had planned for Sam, Dean was just going to be buried further and further into it. He was already six feet under. God, if Castiel saw him. If Bobby was watching him from that little place in the sky fixed up just for him. He just... He just didn't know how he was going to recover from any of this. Gain any respect back even when he had his body back, to himself, and he was at least able to stifle the dark in him. He didn't know how _Sam_ was going to recover. 

Dean prayed that Sam would be okay, to which Deanmon would quiet him with a dark chuckle and, sometimes when he was feeling particularly evil, would mock him and tell him just how fucked up this was all gonna get. 

Deanmon had set up a variety of different Angel sigils outside of the room he was keeping Sam in, shielding him from any and all Angels. Including someone like Castiel who would waste no time saving him. 

Deanmon would make Dean's life a living hell by doing to same to Sammy's. He often times (finally) got Dean to shut up by touching Sammy like he did all chained up like before. He got off on the way Sam sobbed into the wall, the sound of his cries around the gag that had looked so pretty on him. Sammy crying was fucking _orgasmic_. 

 

_"Hey, Dean?" Sammy asked from the cocoon that Dean's arms provided. They were both naked, which was a rare occurrence, especially for Dean. He felt bad enough taking the innocence of his baby brother, touching him in a way no big brother should. He didn't need to add to the list of fucked-up. Dad was off on a hunt a couple towns over and wouldn't be back for a few days-- it'd take awhile for him to exterminate that nest of vamps. Dean was finding it harder and harder not to touch Sam the way he wanted when their father was around. He knew he couldn't, of course, and thankfully, so did Sam, but that didn't stop him from wishing. Dean didn't touch Sam unless Sam asked him to first. He wouldn't ever force something on his Sammy or pressure him into anything he wasn't comfortable with._

_Regardless, it felt wrong._

_But, as cliche and ridiculous as it sounds, Dean didn't want to be right._

_"Yeah?" Dean sighed, hugging his Sammy to him._

_"Why won't you kiss me?" Sam questioned, looking up from his place in the security of Dean's strong arms. Dean froze at the question; he could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat. And not in the good way, either._

_"Because," Dean said a-matter-a-factly, almost a snap. He frowned a bit when Sammy pouted out that bottom lip of his, making Dean's chest feel tight. "Sammy..." Dean said exasperated and soft. "We just-- we just, ya know, can't, Sammy,"_

_"But you touch me all the time," Sam whined, wriggling against Dean a bit for emphasis. "Why can't we kiss?" When he didn't get the desired reaction out of Dean, he went on. "-... just a little?" He gave Dean his best puppy-dog eyes. Fuck, Dean was a sucker for those-- and only Sammy's. Nobody else could pull this shit with him, but Sammy could and he _knew_ he could. He only used it when he really, _really_ wanted something. Dean had always had a problem with telling Sam no, but he had to stay strong for this one. _

_He already took so many things away from Sam-- he wasn't about to take Sammy's first kiss, either._

_Dean let out an annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes. He didn't mean to be cunty at times, but with his teenage hormones and attitude, it was sometimes hard _not_ to come off that way. His heart clenched when he saw the hurt flash in Sam's eyes. _

_"C'mon, De," Sam begged, his little hands pulling at Dean's sides, trying and failing to recover from the hurt that adorned his features. "Please. I'll be a good boy, I promise,"_

_"Sammy--"_

_"Just one little kiss ple--"_

_"Have you kissed anyone yet?" Dean finally interrupted, seeming to take Sam aback._

_It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and answer, and even then he sort of stumbled along his words. "No, Dean. I'm only fifteen," Sam reasoned, looking hesitantly up at Dean._

_"By the time I was fifteen I had already lost my v-card, Sam," Dean countered a bit more harshly than he intended, making Sam flinch a bit. Dean couldn't tell if it was from his tone or the contents of his words, but either way he felt like shit. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I just... we're not supposed to be doing things like this,"_

_"So you can touch me like you do, but you won't kiss me?" Sam snapped, sitting up in the bed they were sharing and it protested for Dean with a loud creak._

_The older boy's chest restricted painfully. "That's not what I meant, Sammy--" Dean shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows._

_"I've been waiting for _you_ , damnit," Sammy crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Dean was pretty sure he heard both of their hearts breaking just then. "I've had plenty of opportunities to kiss a girl, even a _guy_ , almost just as many times I could have gotten _laid_. Older girls and boys love me," Sam stated bluntly, emotions thick in his voice. Dean felt his blood boil at the thought of another older boy touching Sam the way he did. If he found out about it, he'd snap their fucking neck. "I've been waiting for _you_ to do all of those things. I want _**you**_ to be my first everything," _

__And I want to be your first everything, too. I want to be your only everything,_ _

_But instead, what came out was,_

_"You see there, _that's_ the problem," Dean sat up finally. He wished the subject hadn't been brought up and he could just enjoy being in this vulnerable (naked) state with his little brother. _

_Sam looked over to him, anger and irritation clear in his face, but with a hint of confusion, as if to say, 'What do you mean by that?'_

_"I can't _be_ your first everything, Sam!" Dean snapped, watching with a heavy heart as Sam winced as if that he brought him physical pain, but that didn't ease Dean's anger. He wasn't mad at his Sammy, he was mad at himself. Even more so as Sam hung his head and only barely peeked up through that mop of hair of his. "We're brothers! _**None**_ of this is okay," _

_Sammy sniffled and hung his head lower, as if to hide something._

_Was his baby boy _crying_? Had Dean been the cause of it? _

__No, it was Casper the friendly ghost. Of course it was you, you dickwad!_ Dean growled mentally at himself, chest restricting and tightening painfully. _

_"Sammy..." Dean was surprised by how pleading that sounded, but that didn't stop Sam from heaving a couple silent sobs. Something he had learned to do and master by the time he was six years old after John, parent of the year, had scolded him for crying after a hard day at school, and then again when he was ten and witnessed some scary things on a hunt he had to tag along on (and stay in the car, of course) and started crying in the middle of the night, ending up waking John and Dean up. John wasn't too happy about his slumber being interrupted. Dean had ended up holding Sammy until he fell asleep that night._

_"Screw you!" Sam snapped, voice cracking halfway through as he moved to get up._

_Before Dean thought about it, he reached out and pulled his naked baby boy back on the bed, gentle but stern and fast. Without giving Sam any time to react to his first move, Dean pinned Sam to the bed by his too-soft-to-be-a-hunter's hands and leaned in. Their lips connected. And holy fuck, sparks were an understatement._

_It was like an entire arsenal went off in between Sam and Dean's bodies then, in between Dean's experienced lips and Sam's soft, innocent ones._

_By the way Sam moaned into the kiss after the initial shock dissipated, Dean knew he had felt the same thing._

***

Dean was pissed that Deanmon was kissing and touching Sam the way _he_ wanted to. How he'd always wanted to. Sure, it was him, speaking bluntly, but it wasn't exactly him. It didn't feel the same. It was like he was on the outside looking in, like he was the invader, like he had no control over any of his movements. Which none of those, 'specialy the last one, were really wrong, per se, but it still was him. 

Dean would never force himself on Sam this way. Wouldn't touch him or do the things he's done unless Sam wanted it, and Dean doubted very highly that Sam wanted any of this, _**ever**_. 

*** 

Sam spent the next few days like he spent the first day he was chained up, his wrists and ankles raw and bloody. Deanmon only put in the gag whenever he fussed or had something sarcastic or smart-mouthed to say. 

So Sam stopped talking. 

Dean would feed and water him, and then reward any good behavior like he had before and sliced open his wrist for Sam. That was probably the highlight of any of his days by now. The thick, metallic liquid tinged with something so sweet it was addictive. Sam found himself wanting it more and more, now. He took more pleasure in the way Dean would touch him, would arch up into his touch, try to please Dean. It was all just to get his fucking fix and he was disgusted. Not just with himself, but Deanmon, this entire freaking screwed up situation. 

Dean changed his panties, too, and Sam stopped fighting it. They would get itchy after awhile of sitting in his own come, which he found himself doing a lot. He thinks the reason why he can kind of shut down whenever Dean's touching him now, or derive pleasure from it, is because Sam knows what his reward will be if he's... if he's a 'good boy'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably going to be editing this as the day goes on like I normally do.(: Fix the mistakes as I sees 'em.


	5. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deanmon likes to humiliate Sam and Dean doesn't like it. Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it's taken me to get this out there. Decided to make this a bit longer for you peeps.(: A lot longer, actually, because holy balls I'm looking at this now and wow. 
> 
> Sorry, I writered all over the place, let me just _clean that up_.

He was blindfolded. Again. Dean had just given him a bath-- the longest one yet-- after drugging him. Again. This time, though, Sam didn't fall alseep midway through it. Instead, he was getting the feeling back in all of his limbs. Had been for awhile actually. It started in the tips of his fingers and toes and then worked its' way in until he was actually about to get out of the bath on his own. Well, _mostly_ on his own. Dean had to wrap an arm around his to help haul him out, but now he was standing on his own two feet. God, it felt great. He couldn't remember the last time he was given the chance to stand, stretch out his stiff, sore legs. Despite the wooziness the drug still lingering in his system made him feel, he had the overwhelming urge to run-- the feeling was almost captivating. Having always been active pretty much most of his life, consistently in the past few years, his body wasn't anywhere used to all of this being tied up and immobile for hours, if not _days_ at a time. 

"Don't you even think about trying to run," Dean growled, making Sam shiver. 

Regardless, Sam heeded the warning. Not only was he blindfolded, but although his body was mobile again, the drug was making him all stumbly. Not to mention Dean thought it necessary to tie up his arms awkwardly from the back. They were crossed over his back and his forearms were over each other. The thin rope-like string binding him started from his biceps and ended at his wrists. God, what he'd do for some TLC right now. 

And not from Dean, thank you very much. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam replied halfheartedly with a small wince as Dean grabbed hold of the binds nearest his wrists and began pushing him forwards, making Sam stagger but comply. His statement was true, though. He wouldn't even dream of it. Literally. Sam stopped dreaming of running quite a few nights ago, after Dean had rubbed him to the shattering point of orgasm for the umpteenth time. Now all of his dreams were filled with the insatiable desire for the blood coursing through his brother's veins and the awful, terrible things his imagination would make up as things Dean was planning for him in the future. 

Taking away one of his most vital senses made him feel weak, helpless. Both of which were common things to be feeling lately. Whether he was bound and gagged or drugged and blindfolded, he was utterly and completely dependent on Dean. 

As Sam was led down a path, he paid attention to how many steps he took, the length of each of them, tried to get the distance between his legs each time they were apart about a foot or so to make it easier. So he could map out bits and pieces of this place he was being kept prisoner in case he _was_ given the chance to run. 

He counted twenty on the cool, damp floor. It felt something closer to tile. It was too hard to be linoleum and too soft to be the same concrete that the room Dean kept him in. He could feel the grooves in the flooring and heard how their footsteps (mostly Dean's because he had boots on that clunked against the floor much louder than the pitter patter and thudding of Sam's bare feet against it) echoed and ricocheted off of walls. They were in a narrower space. A hallway. At least something similar. The echos, due to them being so loud and reverberating all over, that meant there were no windows. None that weren't covered up, anyway. Sam expected as much. It was cold, too, meaning that the insulation sucked or there was none at all. 

It really _was_ cold, though. Especially in Sam's naked and damp state. One area was particularly sensitive to the cool, crisp air, and that was his overused cock. His entire body flushed at the thought, just being reminded again that this was only going to get worse and worse and that he should be grateful that Dean gave a shit about his pleasure and he wasn't... _complete_ sadistic. 

"Should have you walk around naked more often. Love to see that ass of yours move," Dean's chilling voice penetrated the air that, next to it, made the air feel warm in comparison. 

"It'd look even better if you hadn't kept me chained up like you did," Came Sam's snarky reply before he could even think about it. There was a shove to his back and Sam stumbled forward. Instantly he went to put his arms out to catch himself, but he couldn't, and soon enough he landed with a hard and loud _thud_ on his right side. He hissed out in pain as it shot up through his oversensitive body. Sam couldn't even fucking roll over to his side, or onto his front. It would be worse and even more uncomfortable than laying on his shoulder. "The _fuck_ , Dean?!" 

There was a shuffling, but no reply came until a couple seconds later of Sam feeling utterly helpless. "You need to watch that smart mouth of yours around me. Want the gag?" Dean snapped. 

Sam shook his head furiously. "N-no," 

"Thought so," Dean stepped to where he was behind Sam. Not like he could see him anyway. Sam shivered as he felt the hard, cold press of the toe of Dean's boot press into his back. Like a threat. He was trying to make Sam feel smaller than he already felt. "Now get the fuck up," He barked the order, the echoing in the hall making his voice even more intimidating and dark then before. 

Sam grunted, feeling his body freeze up. Cold and butt-ass naked didn't mix very well. But, complying, Sam rolled over onto his front, using that position to push off of the ground with his chest and shoulders. He almost got to his knees, but Dean jabbed his hand into Sam's back, making him fall forward once more. 

"C'mon. Try _again_ ," Dean ordered darkly, and Sam could practically hear the grin in his voice. Not only was Sam naked, he was bound and blindfolded, and flopping on the floor like a fucking fish out of water. It was humiliating, though he had already endured humiliation at its' finest, thanks to Dean. There was a taunting voice in the back of his head that told him that this wasn't nearly as bad as it was going to get. This Dean seemed like a master manipulator, not to mention a Demon, so that made him all the more ruthless, merciless, and uncaring. 

Without a word, the anger and embarrassment bubbling up inside of him too much to be able to get out in one hundred words or less, he tried again. 

One again he was pushed down, this time landing on his front in a way that it hurt his lower regions, making him cry out. 

" _Again_ ," 

Dean was trying to break him. Break him in every way, not only sexually. Reduce Sam to something lower than the scum on the bottom of Dean's shoe. Make him completely and utterly dependent on Dean in every way and make sure he knows who's in charge. Who's giving him the mercy of taking his next breaths, because really, Dean could end him anytime he wanted. Slide that blade right across his throat and let him bleed out on this very floor. Strangle him in the binds that were sure to await him back in his cell. Smother him, beat him, starve him. 

This time, Sam tried to get up and managed to actually get on his knees before being pushed down again, this time harsher than all of the rest. Sam ended up hitting his chin hard on the tile, making his teeth clash against each other harshly and bite his cheek, a sharp pain shooting up from the source. A metallic taste filled his mouth, the tang nothing like Dean's blood, and Sam spat before him. He was sure in front of him would be nothing but blood, but he couldn't see it. Probably for the better. He was seething underneath the blindfold. 

"Sammy, I'm going to tell you this one more time, and if you don't do it, I'll make you regret it," Dean growled, but there was an amused undertone to it, and it was obvious that he was stifling a laugh. "I haven't got all goddamn day, ya know," 

_Fuck. You,_ Sam thought bitterly, but kept his aching mouth shut. 

This time, Sam didn't move. He simply stayed perfectly still and listened to his breathing, focusing on the way his heart pounded in his ears. Now he could make out a faint dripping noise in the distance. They really were in some dingy place. Probably covered in wetness and mold and a variety of other things, as well as rampant vermin. He was imagining the worst; the walls stained with questionable liquids, acid rain dripping from holes in the ceiling, some kind of matter in all of the crevices the place had to offer. 

"Ah, c'mon. I was having fun," Dean whined teasingly, and Sam cried out as something hit his side, right in the rib cage, hard and fast. Sam howled with pain and rolled onto his other side, contorting his cold, naked body as he tried to soothe the pain. Dean fucking _kicked_ him, like he was some kind of rabid animal. 

Suddenly he was flipped on his stomach again and then fingers were quickly forcing their way into his fluffed out but still damp hair, jerking his head back. Sam cried out and made strangled noises as he was pulled to his knees by his hair. "Ow, fuck! Dean, let me go!" Sam demanded, but it was weak and filled with broken agony, making it sound more like a beg. Whichever worked, he just wanted Dean to let him _go_. 

"Sorry, baby brother, can't do that. You've been a bit too rebellious today, don't ya think? Should probably put you back in your place," Dean chuckled and yanked again, eliciting an involuntary pained whine from Sam. He could feel Dean's breath on his ear. "You're gonna love what I have in store for you," 

Sam swallowed harshly and shifted a bit. He had a pretty bad feeling that he was _not_ gonna love whatever Dean had planned for him. 

_"I have a surprise for you, close your eyes!" Dean grinned from ear to ear._

_It was Sam's sixteenth birthday, not long after their little love affair began, or rather, got a little more heated. John was nowhere to be seen, per the usual, of course. He left on a hunt about a week before and told them he wasn't going to be back until at least next month after leaving them at their Uncle Bobby's, and that was if he was lucky. He didn't take into account that his youngest son's birthday, him becoming sixteen, what was important to normal parents, was going to be one of the things he was missing while he was gone. Pfft, as if the man would give a shit. Sam hadn't gotten one call or voicemail from him, not a goddamn one. Even Bobby had been gone, but that was a legitimate emergency. Luckily, though, Dean remembered. Even let him stay home from school on his special day._

_Sam'd woken up this morning with a makeshift gift bag (in all actuality, it was just a paper sack he probably requested extra from a place they had gotten take out from with a few napkins as the tissue paper), and a smiling Dean sitting on the edge of his bed. Inside of the bag was a new pair of jeans, a shirt, some socks, and even a couple new pairs of underwear. _new_ new clothes, not some things he got from a thrift store with holes in the knees from so much wear and tear. The shirt was free of holes, too, and was made of the softest grey material he had ever felt. The socks were new and white without holes in the toes and the underwear fit him better than the ones he already had; ones that had fit him so tight now that he'd have red lines in his skin by the end of the day or ones so big they'd constantly have to be pulled up. _

_He had no idea how Dean managed to get them-- without stealing them, of course, which he probably did._

_"But you already got me-- " Sam began, confused, but Dean quieted him by pressing a finger to his lips._

_"Just follow me," Dean took his finger back and started walking out of the house and into the salvage lot, a flashlight in hand to guide them._

_Sam followed Dean out into the darkness of the night. It was fall, so the sun went down in the sky quicker. He frowned a bit whenever a chill washed over him and it didn't seem that they were going to make it anywhere anytime soon. Sam had to jog after Dean, pulling up his currently too-big pants as he finally made it to Dean._

_"Where are we going?" Sam questioned, almost a whine by this point. He should have slipped on a jacket. "It's... it's kinda cold out here," Sam blushed a bit, expecting a teasing remark from his brother._

_"Almost there, baby boy," Dean flashed Sam a grin that managed to make his knees weak. Okay, he could stand the cold a bit longer. 'Specially when Dean was calling him 'baby boy'. That always meant something a bit more was going to happen and Sam didn't mind that thought one bit._

_By the time they seemed like they were going to come to a stop soon, they were in a field after just passing the barrier of cars along the salvage lot. Furrowing his brow, Sam persevered and continued to follow, now hugging his arms around himself. He wished for a moment that Dean could wrap his arms around him and contemplated asking-- just to keep him warm of course. Sam doubted that Dean would do so unless he pulled the 'but it's my birthday' card. And right now Sam didn't feel like guilting Dean into doing anything._

_Sam contorted his face with confusion as the Impala came into view, the flashlight making the tail of it glimmer. It was in the middle of the field and they were headed right toward it. When did Dean have the time to do this? Probably while Sam was inside doing whatever he felt like at the time. Was this the surprise? The one that had Dean grinning ear to ear for?_

_"Here we are," Dean announced as they neared the Impala. Sam cocked an eyebrow. So it was._

_"What... what about it?" Sam furrowed his brow, peering up at his brother. Rounding the Impala, Sam watched Dean reach inside the car and pull out a blanket._

_"C'mon, Sammy," Dean nodded toward the front of the Impala before moving around it and climbing on top of the hood. Dean never let Sam do that._

_Needless to say, Sam was a little reluctant._

_"Just gonna stand there?" Dean peered over at Sam. "C'mere, Sammy. I'll warm you up,"_

_Sam's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed hard. It didn't take the small, yet lanky, boy to follow his older brother onto the hood of the Impala. He was barely able to get comfortable before Dean's arms were around him and he was pulled him back into his lap and leaning back, their bodies facing up and looking at the sky. A sky Sam had yet to realize was seemingly the starriest he had ever seen._

_"Woah," Sam stared at awe at the stars. Little dots in the night's sky. Some bigger and shinier than others. Jesus, it was beautiful._

_"Knew you'd like it," Dean grinned, holding Sammy closer, to which Sam put his smaller arms over Dean's that were wrapped so nice and warm around him. The warmth left him, but only for a moment, and soon enough Dean was draping the blanket over the two of them. The arms returned soon after._

_"I love it, De," Sam murmured quietly and he felt hot breath along the shell of his ear._

_There was a moment of silence, Sam's heart racing and pounding in his chest. Dean's hot breath and arms around him made it near impossible to focus on the sky and stars before him. "I love _you_ , Sammy," Dean whispered in Sam's ear, a warm hand slipping under his shirt, making goosebumps arise where ever the pads of Dean's fingers ventured. "So much," _

_If Sam's heart wasn't racing before, it sure as hell was now._

_"D-ean," Sam arched into the calloused but warm and gentle touch. The arms tightened around him and lips ghosted his neck, the flesh just under his ear, teeth then grazed his earlobe and he shivered. "De... De, I love you, too," Sam barely managed to keep his voice even. "Love you more than anything,"_

_"Baby boy..." Came Dean's breathy rasp against Sam's heated neck as a blush crawled up and reached Sam's cheeks. Even more so as there was a twitch in his pants at the combination of Dean's pet name for him, the breathy, needy quality to it, the arms around him, warming him._

_They'd been fooling around for quite some time, but this... this was different._

 

Dean's hand was about to come down on Sam's back again, Sam could feel it. Reacting on pure instinct and on the rush of adrenaline his body decided to gift him with, he leaned forward and jutted one shoulder out, narrowly dodging a jab to the back, and then he kicked his leg out and swiped, nearly toppling over if it weren't for the wall. Thank god for narrow hallways. His leg connected with something when he did so and heard and loud curse sound from Dean's lips and a thud as something heavy hit the ground. 

Holy. 

Shit. 

"You little shit!" Dean growled from behind him. Sam wasted no time using the wall as leverage as he was getting up. Blindly he started to sprint forward. The blindfold had loosened in the repeated falling and now all he had to do was shake his head and the blindfold left his eyes. He could see everything now. It was about as much as he expected. Dingy and damp, questionable stains on the walls and ceiling. "Run and I'll tan your hide!" Dean barked from behind him and judging from the shuffling, Dean was getting back on his feet. Sam ran faster down the hallways, passing door after door. Being bound the way he was proved to be awkward and time consuming when opening a door, so he didn't try, he just kept running. Running naked through the halls was awkward, too, but he was too high on pure terror to give a shit. 

"Sammy!" Dean's voice echoed and reverberated throughout the halls. "There's no place for you to go! Why don't you just stop before you make this worse on yourself?" 

Something told Sam that Dean was right, that he was speaking the truth. This was a horrible idea. Running, trying to find en exit. It was all a waste of time. And it was only going to make it worse on himself. He'd been pretty good, and even that provoked Dean enough to torture him with certain things. He didn't even _want_ to imagine what it'd be like if Dean caught him again. 

_When_ Dean caught him again. 

"Castiel," Sam murmured in a breathless whisper as he ran, ran as fast as his legs would take him. There was a split in the hall. Sam did a quick eenie meanie minie moe, going with the hall on his right, he started sprinting again, hearing the clunk of Dean's footsteps hot on his heels. Sam looked around frantically, legs wobbling and uneven as he ran. He could barely remember the last time he was allowed to _walk_ , much less run. He was weak and trembling by the time he reached the end of the hall. It was a dead end. "Cas, help me, please. Please, please, please, please," He chanted over and over again in choked sobs racking his chest, hoping he'd gotten to a sort of miraculous place where the Angel sigils didn't work. "C'mon, Cas, I'm begging you," 

No such luck. 

The footsteps nearing him only added to his desperation, but there was no place to go. Sam passed all of the doors that looked remotely better than this dead end. 

"Mm, see, Sammy? No point in trying to run," Dean's voice came startlingly close from behind him, making him coward in the corner, facing the corner instead of Dean. He felt his heart do harsh and uncalled for summer salts in his chest. His shoulders heaved and he closed his eyes, tight, pressing his forehead against the cool wall. "No point in praying for that baby in a trench coat, either. Made sure to Angel-proof this bitch," 

Sam would have been fighting back, gone down swinging, but in this situation, he wouldn't be going down. Dean is going to punish him instead and his heart lurched in his chest as his imagination got the better of him. 

 

_"But... but Dean. You said we couldn't--nngh," Sam cut himself off as a pleasure-induced moan left his lips, teeth grazing his neck from behind where Sam still sat in his lap._

_"I know baby boy, shhh..." Dean cooed, kissing up and down the curve of Sam's neck slowly, taking his time with each one, nearly driving Sam into a frenzy of want._

_The hand under his shirt slid up and hiked up the material, encouraging Sam's arms up as Dean then proceeded to slip it off, leaving the cold air to nip as his bare chest. Dean slid the blanket up then, his hands resting on the younger male's chest. His fingers explored like so many times before and the pads of his fingers ended up on Sam's nipples, rubbing them, hardening them even further than the cold air had proved to, eliciting a pleasure filled moan from Sam._

_"Could w-e, uh, take this back i-inside?" Sam asked, arching up into his brother's touch. Why Dean wanted to come all the way out here (metaphorically and literally) to do this was beyond him. It was cold and the hood of the Impala was hard. Sam assumed he'd be the one on his back, so he didn't want to do it here where it'd hurt._

_"Thought this would be romantic," Dean explained heatedly along Sam's jawline. "Thought you'd like it,"_

_"I do, it's just-- not comfortable," Sam whispered, tapping the hood of the Impala with his finger. Dean hummed against his neck, understanding what he meant._

_"We could always make love in the grass," Dean offered teasingly, a mocking quality to his voice as he said the 'make love' part. No chick-flick moments... _Right_. "Or--" _

_"Back of the Impala?" Sam suggested suddenly, backing off a bit, his eyes widening some as he blushed furiously. "I mean-- we don't have to--"_

_Dean laughed softly against Sam's tender flesh along his bare shoulder, eliciting a shudder. "Didn't think you'd go for that," Dean nipped his skin at his jawline. Suddenly, they were shifted and Dean's touch was gone, making Sam frown. Dean, now standing on the ground, grinned at Sam, emerald eyes half-lidded even in the moonlight. "Well?" He looked at Sam expectantly and Sam flushed. Dean grabbed the blanket and yanked it off Sam, making Sam yelp a bit whenever the cold night air touched him. "C'mon, baby boy! Or I'll start without you," A mischievous grin plastered on his lips, reaching his eyes and bringing out the green even in the shitty lighting._

_Sam climbed off then after the shock of what Dean said had had time to simmer, hearing and then seeing as Dean opened the door to the Impala, stepping aside and gesturing gentlemanly like for Sam to climb in before him. Sam flushed, but did as he was nonverbally told to do and clambered on inside of the Impala a bit less gracefully than he would have liked. He shivered a bit, hugging his arms around him as his teeth chattered. Having to, well, unhug himself, he climbed into the back. /Again/, less gracefully than he would have liked. Once he got settled, awkwardly sitting down in the backseat towards the left, he noticed Dean had yet to climb in._

_"I'm gonna start without you!" Sam called, grinning to himself and his smart-assery, throwing Dean's words back at him._

_Just then, Dean's head peeked in the car, eyes a fiery emerald. "You think so, huh?" He grinned and his head disappeared for a moment, making Sam think his ruse didn't work, but just then, Dean reappeared and climbed in, shutting the door behind him. Thank god, Sam was starting to freeze to death._

_Dean was perched in the front, on his knees sitting back on his haunches and on his calves, facing Sam. Instead of joining Sam in the back, he clasped his hands in front of him on top of the seat and rest his chin on top of them, watching Sam._

_"Aren't you gonna-- ya know..." Sam trailed off, gesturing to the back seat. The longer Dean watched him, the tighter his pants got._

_"Go ahead," Dean nodded, looking at Sam expectantly, his half-lidded eyes glinting with mischief._

_"Go ahead with what?" Sam just stared a Dean, confusion in his eyes as he looked at Dean._

_"You said you were going to start without me," Dean tilted his head some. "Go ahead. I wanted you all hot and bothered by the time I _really_ get my hands on you," His voice was nearly a growl._

_Sammy's eyes widened, Dean sounding almost feral when he said that. There was a long pause of silence, one that Sam was figeting a bit. He couldn't stand the way Dean was staring at him, like he wanted to rip his clothes off (what was left of them, anyway) and ravish him. It was making Sam's cheeks heat up._

_"C'mon, baby boy," Dean encouraged huskily. "As much as I love to see you blush, I love watching you writhe more,"_

_Sam averted his gaze then, blushing furiously._

_"Take off your jeans," Dean ordered softly, making Sam look up again and meet Dean's heated emerald gaze. "And boxers,"_

_Sam's heart sped up and he'd wished that Dean would look away for a moment. Why was Dean asking him to do this? It was _his_ birthday, after all. _

_Despite all of this, Sam found himself hooking his long finger in the waistband of his pants and tugging them down, looking away from Dean once more as he found the look he was giving him to be too intense. Finally, after raising his hips and ass off of the seat, his pants slid down and they were soon around his ankles. He tugged them and his shoes and socks off, sliding down his boxers with them, settling his bare hips back in the seat as he discarded his clothes to the floor of the Impala. His cock was already semi-hard pointing up towards his stomach, aching to be touched. Sam's body flushed as he followed Dean's eyes to his crotch before it returned to his eyes._

_"Such a good boy," Dean praised with a smile. "Now wrap your hand around yourself. Start off slow,"_

_"Dean...-" Sam almost begged. All he wanted was for Dean to get back here and touch him like he was promised. Not so much in words as he was in the way Dean had touched him on the hood of the car. "C'mon, De, just get back here,"_

_"No," Dean said firmly, eyes raking over Sam's nude body._

_Taking into account the way Dean likes to watch him, Sam finally swallowed back any qualms and inched his fingers over his thigh, heading for his throbbing erection._

 

Sam was grabbed roughly by his binds, eliciting a groan of pain as his limbs and mind protested being dragged away. Dean yanked him up from the crouch position he was in in the corner and shoved him forward. Thankfully, despite his shaking legs, he was able to keep his balance and not fall over again. Best not to have a repeat of what just happened. "Walk," Dean commanded, leaving no room for protest or arguing. Not that Sam'd want to. Making whatever punishment Dean had in store for him worse was not part of his to-do list. So instead of fighting it, he walked forward, following the guidance of Dean's calloused hand on his right bicep. "That was a _real_ stupid thing you did, Sammy. You know that right?" Dean inquired and Sam could hear the wicked grin on his face, instantly regretting trying to run. He just made this so much harder on himself and he didn't even get anywhere. Sam finally nodded his head. "You just made this worse on yourself, baby boy," 

They walked and walked. Sam hadn't realized how big this place actually seemed to be. He couldn't put a name to it, though. It wasn't quite a factory, but whatever it was was long forgotten in the past. Until Deanmon came along, apparently. Sam's legs were aching by the time they reached the door, the one separating him from his cell. Dean hadn't bothered to put the blindfold over his eyes again. It wasn't any use. Aside from door after door, all of which looking the same, he still had no idea where the exit was. 

Dean opened the door and shoved Sam inside, this time making him stagger to his knees as he heard the door close. Sam hung his head. He was so fucked. So very fucked. 

"You're such a bad boy," Dean said tauntingly. 

_"Such a good boy,"_ Dean's old voice filtered into his mind and he felt his eyes prickle with on coming tears. God, he was scared. 

Sam didn't look up when he heard clanging and the jingle of metal on metal, too afraid of what he'd see. Then the clanging and jingling stopped and there was a shuffling. There was footsteps and Dean's boots appeared in Sam's line of sight, which was focused on the floor. Then they disappeared off to the left of his vision, hidden by the shield of Sam's chestnut hair, and then he was gripped and yanked up once more, this time by those same locks that had 'shielded' him, right in the back of his head. Sam cried out in pain and immediately tried to get his legs under him to relieve the pain, which it finally lessened once he had. 

During this, Sam was forced to look up. He was then forced to the wall, where above there were two leather cuffs, connected by chain, and the chain was hung over a metal hook in the wall. Sam gulped. 

"I wanted to wait for this, but I think you even _thinking_ you could escape leaves me no other choice," Dean announced nonchalantly, tugging at Sam's binds until they loosened and then came off completely. Sam had an urge to swing, to fight, to kick and bite and claw, but he decided against it, allowing, albeit reluctantly, for Dean to grab each of his wrists and cuff them above him, Sam now facing the wall, barely enough room to move his head without hitting it on the wall if he wasn't careful, and incapable of turning around. He pulled a bit at them, wincing in pain as he was reminded just how sore his wrists were. 

"Mmm, baby boy. You have such a nice ass," Hands groped him, inducing a shudder. Sam clenched his jaw as they went up his back, following the curve. "And back. _Fuck_ , and your legs," 

Again, hands were at his ass, fondling and groping him there, making him clench his cheeks together and squeeze his eyes shut tight. Then they gripped his hips firmly, the firm touch turning rough as his fingers dug into his hipbone, making him wince. Just as abruptly, they pulled his hips out, jutting out his ass, and soon enough those same hands were spreading his cheeks. 

Oh no. No, no, no, no. 

"Castiel," Sam pleaded in a pray under his breath. "Please, I need you, pl-ease," There was a sob that threatened to rack his body, but he didn't let it. Instead he gritted his teeth. 

"Cas can't help you, Sammy," Dean growled from behind him, startlingly close to Sam's ear. A finger ran up Sam's crack, stopping at the pucker and earning a yelp from Sam. "Not that he would if he could," Dean taunted. "He may be all righteous, but there isn't anything he wouldn't do for me, you know," The finger pushed in, bone dry, making Sam choke out a pain filled noise. Fuck, it hurt. It felt weird. "Mmm, so tight," Dean said under his breath before going on. "Loves me far too much. Bet he'd love to watch what I'm about to do to you," 

No, that's not true. Of course it wasn't. Cas would help him, more profound bond with Dean or not, because this _**wasn't**_ Dean. Then Cas would help Sam cure him and they'd all be okay. 

"Please, Dean--" Sam barely managed. "Just stop, okay? If you st-op now, I'll fo-rgive you. We can forget th-is, we can--" dark laugh interrupted his useless pleas, and Dean jammed his index finger knuckle-deep in Sam's hole. "Fuck!" Sam cried out, pressing his head to the cool wall in front of him harshly. Dean was inside of him now, his finger invading him. Little bits of himself that he had left were slowly crumbling away and it terrified Sam even more that now he could feel it. 

"I love it when you _beg_ ," Dean emphasized the last word by pulling out and then shoving his fingers back in just as rough, if not more, than the first time. 

"Dean-" 

Sam just couldn't. All of his words got caught in his throat and he writhed unpleasantly on Dean's finger. He tried to block it out of his mind entirely, tried to go to his happy place or think about other things, but that was impossible when Dean started finger fucking his hole, ramming the digits in and out of him harshly. 

Sam wasn't getting out of this. This was really going to happen and he couldn't stop it. 

 

_"Now lay back on the seat and spread your legs," Dean nodded to Sam, his eyes glinting encouragingly._

_Sam, hand around his hardening member as he gave it slow, shy strokes, and then did as he was ordered and laid back against the back of the seat. He picked up his legs and put his feet in the seat, having to bend his knees and spread his legs. Sam was embarrassed, but having Dean watching him, his eyes ravishing his body, it all made his dick swell, blood rushing to fill it as it gradually became rock hard in his hand as he gave it a squeeze._

_"Good boy," Dean praised, seeming to be situating himself as well, but remaining in the same position. Watching Sam from over the seat. "That's my good boy," He murmured approvingly. "I want you to stroke yourself a bit faster," Sam complied almost immediately, craving the friction. "-and I want you to finger yourself. Show me how you've done it before,"_

_Sam flushed. He had done it before, fingered himself. Fucked himself on his own fingers. How did Dean know about that? "How did you--?"_

_"You need to work on quieting your moans and controllin' what you say in the shower sometimes, Sammy," Dean grinned fondly, a teasing undertone to his husky voice._

_Oh god._

_Biting his lower lip, Sam reached in between his legs and slowly began tracing his finger around the rim. "Mm, god," Sam moaned softly, his finger a bit too cold for his liking, but the stroking of his cock and the finger running circles around his hole had him writhing with pleasure. He saw Dean's eyes on him, on his face, but then he'd watch as the emerald hues of his big brother would travel down, down until it reached his aching cock and quivering hole. " _Dean_ ," Sam whispered, groaning softly as he swiped his thumb over the sensitive tip, stroked, then let his index finger dip into the slit, eliciting a sharp inhale and a pleasurable moan. _

_"You're so pretty, Sammy,"_

 

"You're so pretty like this, Sammy," Dean grinned from behind him. Teeth grazed his shoulder and back, but he couldn't react to those. Only the finger penetrating him, violating him. "Can't wait to fuck you, you're so damn tight, " 

"You mean _rape me_ ," Sam bit out bitterly through gritted teeth, tensing and clenching up his entire body. 

Just as suddenly as the first, a second finger was jammed inside of him and was now thrusting in and out of him. "Details, details, baby boy," Dean rasped wickedly next to Sam's ear. Sam couldn't help the strangled noises that left him. The yelps and whimpers. Dean wasn't stretching him for Sam's sake, it was for himself. So it wouldn't hurt _him_ as bad. He didn't give a shit about Sam. He was going to get fucked bloody and he couldn't do anything to stop it. 

A third finger entered him, scissoring him. "Oh, fuck! Ow, Dean, please! St-op," Sam fought off sobs that threatened to rise, his voice cracking and faltering. 

"Gonna fuck you good and _hard_ , baby boy," Dean almost cooed and emphasized the word 'hard' with a particularly rough ram of his fingers, disregarding Sam's protests and pleas, only pulling Sam's hips back out whenever Sam would snap his hips forward. The fingers were rough and nearly splitting him in two. Tearing into him. Fuck, he couldn't even imagine how bad it was going to be once Dean actually got to the punchline. "Gon'make sure you feel me for days," 

Sam didn't doubt it. 

" _ **De!**_!" Sam screamed. 

*** 

Deanmon grinned wickedly, black eyes raking up and down his Sammy's writhing and jerking body, the begging for him to stop going straight to his hardening cock. Fuck it was hot, Sam pulling desperately at the cuffs hanging him out for such mouthwatering display. He wanted to kiss, lick, and bite every inch of skin he saw on his little brother. Wanted to fuck that hole he was currently thrusting his fingers in and out of for real. Dean'd been planning for this for some time now, although he wanted it to go down a bit differently. He had had something different planned, but what better way to punish Sammy for his bad behavior than to strip him of what little pride, dignity, and self-worth he had left? 

_"Stop this shit right the **fuck** now, you piece of shit!"_ The Dean in his head shouted.

" _You're just as much a piece of shit as I am. I am **you**_ ," Deanmon barked back. He was not letting his old self, old _Dean_ , get in the way of his fun. And fuck, was this fun. _"I'm all of your darkest desires, just minus the conscience,"_

_"I'd never--"_

" _You want Sammy. Wanted him any way you possibly could_ " Deanmon grinned, thrusting nice and hard into Sams hole. 

_" **Not like this, jackass!"**_ Dean snarled. 

" _Don't lie to your-_ "Deanmon was brought back to the present as Sam shouted, 'De'. 

"Sammy!" Deanmon's mouth moved, but it wasn't his words. His eyes, beetle black eyes fading and returning to his natural emerald. What the hell was happening? He tried to move his fingers he hadn't realized he'd stopped moving in the first place, but it didn't work. "Oh my god, Sammy," Again, not his words. 

It was his old self. This hadn't happened before. He'd had complete control! What the fuck was going on? 

Dean, shocked at the control he's just gained, pulled his fingers out of Sam's hole immediately. "Sammy, baby boy," Dean cooed at the shivering and shaken Sam. "I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay,"

Dean could feel the darkness in him writhe and tremble with anger. He could feel himself starting to lose again. 

"Fuck you," Sam snarled in a break between sobs. Dean could see it in Sam's profile when he turned his head back that he didn't believe that it was really him. 

He hadn't any time to worry about making him believe. He needed to let Sam go. 

It had been so long since he had control of his body that Dean fumbled a bit with the cuffs around Sam's raw wrists. Something he had caused. Near weeks of haven't his Sammy shackled one way or another could do that to a person. Fuck, Sam was shaking. He all but fell when Dean unfastened the cuffs. Dean wrapped an arm around Sam and tried to haul him up, but Sam wasn't having any of it. Instead, he tried to push Dean away, and when that was proven to be a useless effort, he started wriggling, protests flying from his lips. 

"Damnit, Sam, get up. I can't--" Dean cut himself off as there was a surging pain through his head. He almost let go of Sam during it, but refrained and persevered. "It's me, Sam. It's really me. I got to get you out of here, baby boy. C'mon, Sammy," 

"Fucking liar!" Sam sobbed and tried harder to get out of Dean's arms, to which Dean tightened his hold. "This 'nother one of your sick games?!" 

God, this was all so fucked. This time, when the pain surged through his head, he released Sam and fell to his knees, clutching his head. He needed to get his Sammy out of here. He tried to move his lips, give him direction on how to get out of here, but nothing came out. He was losing himself again. 

_"Hand over the reigns, Dean. You're just postponing the inevitable,"_ Deanmon growled loudly in his head. His voice was only getting louder and louder. 

"Get out of my head!" Dean shouted, squeezing his eyes shut. 

_"Can't do that. I've got some work to do,"_ Deanmon snarled. _"Your precious Sammy isn't going to break himself, now is he?"_

"You son of a bitch!" Dean hunched over, splaying his calloused hands over the cool cement. 

_"Don't speak ill of the dead,"_ Deanmon snarked. The comment sent a wave of anger through him. 

This was him. Dean. The whole thing about dark desires and whatnot. That was still... Him. It couldn't be complete bullshit. There wasn't an actual Demon possessing him, it was his fucked up soul in the aftermath of dying with the Mark of Cain on his arm. Dark side and Light (or light grey, who was he kidding, he was far from a saint) side fighting for dominance. 

But a part of him couldn't want this. To hurt Sam the way he had hurt him. Traumatize him. Take what remained of Sam's dignity and pride and tear it to shreds. 

_"You're just making this worse on him. Thinking that there's actually a chance. This isn't going to last. I'm already winning,"_

"He's mine, damnit!" Dean huffed. But Deanmon was right. Dean was losing. 

***

Confusion was an understatement. Dean had just freed him from his cuffs and was now talking to... himself? Sam wasn't certain. This was a game. One of his sick games to get Sam believing that his brother was still inside of there. That he wasn't all bad. It was just a freaking game. It had to be. It wouldn't make sense otherwise. Dean _wasn't_ possessed. That was _all_ him. Well, it wasn't, but it was. 

Whatever was happening, Sam was thankful for a moment, because as soon as Dean's fingers left his hole, it was almost bliss. Okay, well maybe not totally, but it was a lot better than the finger fucking that Dean had been giving him. Even if he was trembling and could barely stand, it was still much better than the alternative. 

Though Sam had fought it, he really did want to believe that it had been Dean, _his Dean_ , that uncuffed him. _His Dean_ who wrapped an arm around him and tried to keep him standing. But Sam couldn't. He shook his head almost as hard as his body was, _and involuntarily at that_ , protesting it, but Sam barely had enough energy to fight it. If Dean wanted to take him, he could. If he wanted to torture him, he could. Dean could do anything that he wanted to him and Sam couldn't do a single thing about it. Aside from wiggling and bucking, as much as he could, there was not much else his body would allow. He felt helpless. Especially since he couldn't even remember the last time Dean had sliced open his wrist and offered it to him. The thought of Dean's blood made him even more determined to fight it. Maybe hit or scratch this monster hard enough to draw blood. Sam doubted even if did manage that, that Dean would ever let him. 

Then Dean fell to his knees, clutching his head as if he were trying to hold it together. Yelling at himself. Sam scurried back, feeling something trickle down his leg as he did so. He backed himself up into the wall after having scooted his ass backwards to it. He wasn't even going to attempt to stand. He doubted he would make it far, anyway. 

 

_Sam had always loved it when Dean would say that he was pretty. It did things to him. Made him feel good in a pleasurable way, and something would swell in his chest. Something pleasant. And only Dean could manage that. Only his big brother could make him feel this way._

_"You're such a good boy for me, Sammy, huh?" Dean's voice was breathy, darkened in the best of way with lust. "All for me,"_

_"Only you, De-an," Sam jerked his hips up into his own hand, meeting his thrust halfway with hard, but agonizingly slow strokes up and down his shaft, running his thumb and occasionally his index finger around the crown, dipping his pinky into his slit, making him gasp and writhe. Though none of it was like when Dean would touch him. _That_ was almost an entirely different experience all together. If there was heaven on earth, it was most definitely Dean's magical fingers. _

_"Damn right, only me," Dean rasped, shifting again in his seat. Sam couldn't keep the eye contact anymore and let his eyes roll back and close. "Tell me how good it feels, Sammy,"_

_Sam moaned softly, biting his lower lip to save him the embarrassment of the pleasure filled whimpers threatened to escape. "So-oo good," Sam groans a bit, arching his hips up into his fist that was slowly gaining speed. "Feel even be-tter if it was you," Sam shuddered, giving himself a squeeze._

_"Not yet, want you--"_

_"But it's _my_ birthday, De," Sam mustered up enough of his wits to open up his eyes and give Dean his best puppy-dog look. He only abused this power when he needed to. _

_Sam's hand slowed as he was distracted and slightly startled by the change in Dean's eyes. His entire teasing demeanor changed and that's when Sam knew, he was fucked._

_That was what Sammy was hoping for, after all._

_"D-ean?" Sam shivered at the pleasure that continued to come over him in waves and his cock throbbed in his hand, aching for more friction that Sam wasn't giving. He was too focused on the way Dean was looking at him. Then climbing over the seat and sitting, twisting himself towards Sam._

_"Lay back, baby boy," Dean's voice was lower, soft but it held no room for arguments. Sam moved his body around, releasing his hard, leaking dick as he moved to lay horizontal along the backseat. Though he couldn't all the way, his legs by this time far too long to fit properly with Dean sitting back here with him, he managed to by bending his knees once more, one hanging over the edge, letting his bar foot press against the floor of Baby. His head was propped up by the side of the Impala, craning his neck so he could see Dean more clearly, even in the dim lighting everything proved to be. "That's it," Dean shifted and got himself further on the seat, tucking his legs under him as he settled, clothed, in between Sam's spread legs, his calloused fingers running up along the outside of Sam's thighs slowly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two, as if he were trying to drink Sam in one part at a time._

_"I love your legs," Dean breathed, running his rough thumb along a rather soft and sensitive patch of skin along Sam's inner thigh, eliciting a shiver. "They look so nice, spread for me like this," Dean's eyes followed the curves and dips of Sam's body up to finally meet Sam's wide gaze. A small whine left Sam's lips at Dean's words, because fuck, he wanted this. He wanted Dean to touch him and he wanted to hear sweet and dirty words coming from those beautiful lips of his big brother that were now kissing his chest. Following the line in the middle of his chest, Dean kissed down, warm and wet lips contrasting with the cold air around them. A shiver shook Sam's body, and he couldn't tell if it was from Dean kissing his body or the cold (probably a mixture of both), but whatever the case may be, Sam still wanted Dean to do as he promised and warm him up._

_Dean was already doing a fine job of it._

_Dean pulled off his own shirt, revealing unmistakable muscles, skin pulled taut over them as they contracted, tightened, and rippled as he leaned over Sam once more, picking up were he left off, besides Sam's navel, and continued to travel lower and lower. And at the slowest speed damn possible. Sam was moving his writhing body underneath Dean's lustful scrutiny. "Easy there, tiger," Dean grinned against the flesh along Sam's hipbone. "Patience is a virtue,"_

_Sam was about to say how they were brothers who had done many unbrotherly things, and not to mention, were about to **fuck** , so screw having 'virtues', but he refrained. He didn't want to ruin this. Instead, he said, "C'mon, Dean. Please," Sam begged softly, arching his hips up only for them to be forced back down into the seat by both of Dean's strong hands. An obvious smirk crossed the older Winchester's lips. _

_Dean went back to kissing him and even sucked on a placed along his upper thigh, closer to his hip, hard enough that when he moved his lips elsewhere, Sam could see that he left a mark. A pleasant shudder washed over his body from both the stimulation from Dean's mouth and the mark Dean had given him where Dad wouldn't be able to see. "You're mine, Sammy," Dean murmured softly. " **All mine** ," Dean's thumb ran across the mark he left on Sam's skin, making Sam gasp at the unexpected sensitiveness there. _

_"Always," Sam whispered._

 

When Sam finally looked down, he realized the liquid trailing down the backs of his legs was blood. He had reached in between himself and ran his fingers over the back of one of his thighs, retracting his hand to see the crimson liquid, reeking of something metallic. Not a lot of it, but more than Sam'd like to see. Horror washed over Sam. Tears pricked his eyes again, fresh and burning his probably swollen eyes. 

"S-Sam, get the hell outta here!" Dean yelled, nearly making Sam jump out of his skin. 

He was _not_ about to run, not now. Not without knowing where he was going. Not after the person telling him this tore him with his fingers alone as punishment for running before. 

Hell no. 

All of a sudden, the room was quiet. Dean stopped rocking and moving about, the hands in his hair stopped carding through it, still atop his head. Well, it _was_ quiet. Until there a startlingly dark and low chuckle broke the silence. 

"Shoulda run, baby boy," Dean laughed, removing the hands from his head, emerald eyes landing on Sam. He blinked and they were black, making Sam's own eyes widen. "Least you would've known where _not_ to go," His voice was just as dark as his laugh, gruff with the evil seeming to be emanating from him. 

"Stay the h-hell, a-way from m-e," Sam barely stuttered out, realizing then just how badly he was shaking. 

Before he knew it, Dean was standing up and gliding over to him, swiftly hooking a hand around Sam's bicep and hauling him up with no gentleness. Maybe the man before _had_ actually been Dean. Sam's chest constricted and tightened painfully at the thought. But a new hope sparked inside of him; Dean _was_ still in there. That hope was quickly shrouded whenever Sam was slammed, front first, onto the cot. 

Sam fought it, but Deanmon was ruthless. Fuck, Sam could barely stand. His legs shook and his hole ached. He was bent over the cot, the compromising position making him struggle and twist under Dean's hands and his bruising grip on Sam's side and the harsh pressure in the center of Sam's back, keeping him there. "Leave me a-lone!" Sam bucked, but it didn't do anything. 

"God, you look so good all helpless like this," Dean grabbed Sam's hands and pinned them behind his back, twisting and pressing them whenever Sam would struggle against Dean. Sam learned to stop by the third pull. His body was already hurting too much. He didn't need more. Sam's were as wide as saucers as he felt Dean's denim-clad crotch pressed against his sensitive backside. Despite Sam's attempts at stifling them, at keeping them from Dean's ears that would surely only bring him more pleasure, Sam couldn't help it and let a sob rack his body violently. 

"D-e-ean," Sam shut his eyes as Dean pressed what Sam knew to be Dean's erection into his ass even harder, making him sob harder. The pressure was gone momentarily against his ass. " _Pl-please_ ," 

Only one hand wrapped around Sam's wrists that were keeping him there, Sam heard a small pop, then zip, and dread washed over him. This was actually going to happen. 

"You're _mine_ ," Dean growled. "All fucking mine, got that?" This time whenever he pressed himself against Sam's ass, it was flesh on flesh. Sam felt nauseous as he felt Dean's hard cock pressed against the cleft of his ass. " _ **Got it**_?" 

"Y-yes, just please, Dean, please don't, please, please, please," Sam sobbed a chant of pleas and begs. None of which he knew would work, but anything that _could_. "Dean, this isn't y-you, just--" Sam was cut off as he felt the head of Dean's cock move along his already-torn hole. "Oh, god, no, please--" 

"Love it when you beg, baby boy," 

 

_By this time, Dean had grabbed the lube conveniently placed in the front seat that Sam seemed to have completely missed. Well, he had an excuse. About to get fucked by your big brother called from some one-track mind thoughts. Dean lubed his fingers and rubbed his slicked digits around and along the ring of muscles that was Sam's untouched hole. Other than Sam's own fingers, Dean was the first to touch Sam like this. Like so many other firsts Sam had given Dean. Sam wanted Dean to have every single one of his firsts and be his last._

_Okay, enough with the chick flick moment thinking. One of his long time fantasies was about to come true._

_Sam fucked back on Dean's finger as one calloused digit penetrated his hole, slipping inside all slicked up with minimal difficulty._

_"Mmm, baby boy. You finger yourself, but you're still so _tight_ ," Dean praised huskily. "Can't wait to fuck this hole, sweetheart. Can't wait to have you all to myself," _

_"Please, De. Need it," Sam fucked back desperately on Dean's finger._

_"Ah, good boy. Fucking yourself so nice on my finger," Dean grinned, slipping another finger inside of his Sammy's hole. "I'll give it to you, don't worry, Sammy. Gonna give it to you just how you need. Work you good and open first, then I'll take this sweet little hole of yours,"_

_Writhing didn't even begin to cover it. Sam's cheeks were hot and his body was flushed with lust, the need for Dean's dick inside of him. He'd been picturing it since before they started touching each other like they did now. He's fingered himself, pretending it was Dean fucking him, before. Done it more than a handful of times, but he knew that his fingers would never compare to Dean's actual cock. Fuck, and what a nice cock it was. Dean was naked now, his dick standing at attention, hard and leaking precome from the slit, one that Sam's tongue ached to dip into, to taste Dean._

_A third finger entered Sammy's hole and scissored him open. It hurt a little, but Sam persevered and got to the pleasure, fucking himself even harder on Dean's fingers._

 

"Dean, stop!" Sam shouted, trying to crane his neck to look at the beetle-eyed demon about to rape him. A wicked grin spread across Dean's lips and he only pressed Sam harder into the metal cot, making Sam unable to look behind him anymore. The head of Dean's dick pressed harder against his entrance and Sam sobbed. 

"Crying's not gonna make me stop, Sammy. It's only making you look pathetic," Dean growled. It wasn't an angry growl. Instead it was clouded with unadulterated lust. 

"Dean--" 

Then it happened. A high-pitched strangled noise left Sam's lips as Dean pushed into him, head first, and then ramming himself the rest of the way inside, Dean's hips smacking against Sam's quivering ass, Sam forced to take him to the hilt. "Ah, fuck..." Dean groaned low and guttural. 

Dean started moving his hips, not wasting any time going at it slow and steady to let Sam adjust, just made him take it. Sam screamed and bucked, feeling as if he was being split in two, but that only made Dean thrust harder. 

 

_"Pl-please, Dean," Sammy begged. "I'm ready, I swear, just please fuck me. Fuck me, please,"_

_The three fingers left him. Something bigger, but slicked, pressed against the crack of his ass and Sam opened his eyes he hadn't realized he had shut in the first place. Dean was looking down at him, down for a moment to position himself at Sam's entrance, but then looked back up. There was something in his eyes. There was lust, but nothing compared the the undertone lacing the emerald. It made time stand still for a moment, as cliche and chick flicky as it seemed._

_Dean's emerald eyes held a question that not even Sam could really put into words. Despite this, Sam understood and nodded, licking his lips an anticipation built up inside of him._

_"I..." Dean began, pausing for a moment and leaning over Sam. "I love you, baby boy,"_

_Sam's chest swelled with adoration, making him smile up at Dean, the ends of his eyebrows dropping. "I love you, too, De," Sam spoke softly, sincerely. He knew it took a lot out of Dean to say that, with the no chick flick moments rule, though he thought that giving away your virginity in that area called for something special. Dean said it before, but this one meant something different. A million different things. Sam could tell that much by Dean's eyes alone. 'You're safe'. 'I've got you'. 'You're the only one I'm thinking about'. 'Tonight's about you'._

_'You're mine'._

_It made Sam feel... complete. Like he couldn't ask for anything more and feel anymore whole._

_Dean pressed his lips to Sam's and kissed him soft and slow, as if he were savoring the taste of Sam's lips. Sam returned the kiss, putting in as much passion as he possibly could. Dean tilted his head and deepened the kiss and the pressure on Sam's hole increased, the head of Dean's cock starting to push past the first ring of muscles there. He grasped Sam's hips, pulling him further down the backseat, Sam now lying completely flat on his back as their lips refused to break the kiss. Dean's lips locked onto Sam's and Sam felt something warm and soft swipe across his lips. Dean's tongue. Sam opened his mouth a bit, granting Dean entrance, to which Dean took full advantage of. The older Winchester tongue fucked the younger's mouth, swiping his tongue over his and exploring all Sam's mouth had to offer, eliciting soft moans and pleasure filled whimpers._

_"Gonna take good care of you, Sammy," Dean whispered, pulling away from the kiss and proceeding to move his lips down to Sam's jaw, then neck. With that, he moved his hips forward, slow and steady, pushing past another ring of muscles. Sam inhaled, his breath hitching in his throat. His entire body flushed and a sound left his lips that he didn't even have a name for-- didn't even know he could make._

_"Dean..." Sam gasped softly, Dean's hips not tiring and they ventured forward, soon enough inside of Sam. He shuddered in the best of ways, furrowing his brow a bit at the feeling. It was similar to that of his fingers, but bigger-- much bigger-- than he anticipated. The lube Dean applied to his dick made for pretty easy entry, pushing further into Sam with a low groan, almost overshadowed by the small whimpers and moans coming from Sam's lips. Mixed with Dean kissing and licking his neck, he was almost overstimulated._

_Dean grunted as he bottomed out, pulling away from Sam's neck before he did to watch Sam's face contort with pleasure and heat under his gaze. "You look so good," He breathed, pulling his hips back and then pressing in again._

_"F-uck," Sam groaned, arching his back. He was glad Dean stretched him and let him adjust, or he wouldn't be able to take Dean like this. Or rather, let Dean take **him** like this. He looked up into Dean's eyes and nearly melted at the emotions he saw in them. Adoration, love, passion, lust, desire. Every bit of it, Sam returned. The pain and the odd sensations started to fade and he was feeling good, fucking great, but the third time Dean pulled out almost to the tip and then pushed back in, Sam gladly "Feel so good, De," Sam moaned. "Want more, De, please, please," He whined, hands coming up to grip Dean's back, fingers digging into Dean's flesh, evoking a grunt from his brother. _

_Dean took no time at all complying to Sam's wishes, beginning to move his hips at a more steady pace. Feeling his own face contort with pleasure, he dipped his head back down to Sam's neck, biting and kissing the flesh there and along his shoulder, listening as Sam's moans got louder, but more breathy, desperate for more._

 

Again and again Dean rammed into him, Sam unable to buck or wiggle anymore under the constant pressure of Dean's hand holding him in place. The agonizing pain was almost overwhelming and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, high pitched protests and cries leaving his lips each time he was jolted forward with each brutal thrust of Dean's ruthless hips. Sam tried to think all of this away, but every time he was brought back to reality as Dean drove into him. 

"That's it, baby boy," Dean breathed, snapping his hips back into Sam's, not stopping until he was once again flat against Sam's ass. "That feel good, my little cockslut? C'mon, tell me how much you love it," 

"I d-on't! G-Get out o-of m-e!" Sam screamed, fists clenching and then his fingers searched for something to grab, to grip until this was all over, but couldn't because of how Dean was holding them behind him. 

Dean answered with more filthy words that Sam was in too much pain to register, but was able to comprehend as Dean pulled back and shoved himself back inside of him again. Again and again. The thrusts were becoming harder, faster, and Sam knew what Dean was doing. What he was chasing. 

Something far worse than any pain and dread Sam'd ever felt here washed over him in a powerful wave that shocked him into complete and utter silence. Dean's cock tore into his ass, yet he wasn't making a sound other than the strangled noises that would escape whenever Dean would thrust in particularly deep. The sobs stopped racking his body and were now, instead, heaves of his shoulders. 

 

_Every time Dean would thrust into him and fill him up, it was like Sam was feeling it for the first time all over again. Not the pain part, but the intimacy. Dean's face was buried in Sam's neck, nipping and kissing and licking his sensitive flesh, and Sam was keening and arching as Dean's steady rhythm started to build up into something ruthless, becoming less like making love and more like fucking. But Sam didn't mind. Not. At. All._

_Dean lifted Sam's hips a bit and angled himself. Sam didn't know why, but with the next thrust he did. "Dean!" Sam cried out as Dean hit his sweet spot with amazing accuracy, especially for a first time. Warmth coiled in Sam's stomach and he was already feeling like he wasn't going to last long. Pressure built up in his lower regions and he felt his balls begin to tighten. Sam dug his fingers into Dean's back. This only seemed to encourage Dean, for he continued to hit that spot time and time again. Every fucking time, it drove Sam crazy._

_Then Dean's hand wrapped around his hard, neglected cock and started to stroke it against the rhythm of his hips to add pleasure. "So close! De!" Sam all but keened._

_"Come for me, Sammy. C'mon, it's okay, come for me," Dean managed breathily, jerking Sam off with quick, but experienced strokes. That was all Sam needed to send him spiraling over the edge._

Dean didn't stop in his relentless pursuit of his orgasm. Getting off on Sam's pain, Sam knew that much. He wasn't getting what he wanted from Sam's mouth, the screams and pleas, so he just drilled into Sam harder and harder. The pain was so much that Sam couldn't feel the independent little tears here and there. 

Dean was raping him. There was no sugar coating it. 

Sam didn't know how long it had gone on, feeling like it had been an eternity, but really might have only been no more than a few minutes.

With a final thrust, hips slapping against Sam's ass, Dean came inside Sam with a guttural moan. Sam felt Dean's hot load shoot into him, the salty liquid stinging the tears sure to be inside of him as well as outside. When Dean pulled out after riding out his orgasm with a sickening wet pop Sam could barely react to, Sam felt hollow and empty both physically and mentally, completely emotionally drained. Sam barely noticed, or acknowledged it, he didn't know anymore.

He almost didn't notice the zipping sound that followed, Dean's panting evening out. None of it really registered with him. It was as if his mind refused to let him believe this all just happened. That Dean had taken away something else of his. Sam knew it was missing, but he was too in shock to put his finger on what. 

That could wait. His mind was too fried. 

"You're all mine, now, Sammy," 

 

_"Dean!" Sam screamed, arching his back as he came, and hard. So hard his body convulsed and he couldn't keep his eyes open that he soon realized were stinging with something, coming so hard the sheer intensity of it made tears spring in his eyes. Dean shouted Sam's name soon after and helped Sam ride out his orgasm._

_It took longer for Dean to work out Sam, but once Sam had started to come down from his orgasm, Dean collapsed on top of him._

_Sam was blissed out, but the stinging sensation in his eyes only increased and a sob racked his body. Why the hell was he crying, of all things? He just had the best experience of his life, and now he was crying?_

_"Sam...?" Dean shot up from having his head comfortably buried in Sam's neck, his eyes widening a bit when he saw tears roll down Sam's cheeks. "Oh god," Dean started to pull away from Sam's body, pulling out of his baby boy, his hand coming up and cupping Sam's face, worry obvious in his features. "Did I hurt you?-" Dean started, looking in between them and then back up at Sam, feeling a rush of panic rush over him. "I'm sorry baby boy, I didn't mean--"_

_"N-o," Sam's voice cracked a bit and he shook his head. He mentally cursed at himself for it. He looked pathetic. "It felt f-ucking great Dean. I don't know what's wr-ong with me,"_

_The panic Dean had felt dissipated and he let out a sigh of relief. He'd heard about this happening to people after sex. He dreaded the potential day he slept with someone and they cried after. Not because it was weird or anything, he just wasn't good with emotions. Wouldn't know how to handle it if it happened. "Oh, Sammy..." Dean kissed his brother's forehead, nose, cheek bone, a lingering one on his lips. The only thing he felt now was pure adoration for his Sammy. It made Dean feel good; making his little brother come so hard, so good, it made him cry. Maybe it had to do with the intimacy, too. "Yer fine, baby boy. It's normal," He reassured, using the hand he cupped Sam's face to swipe under his eyes with his thumb to wipe the tears away._

_When Dean's eyes softened, Sam relaxed a bit, and even after Dean told him it was normal, he was still embarrassed. Crying after sex? Not the most dignified thing. "It... It is?" Sam inquired, staring up at Dean with a cautious look, hopeful look, in his teary eyes. "I don't normally do this, th-ough," Sam's voice wavered a bit._

_"Yeah, Sam. Perfectly normal," Dean assured him softly, running his hand through Sam's hair as he settled back on top of his little brother. "It doesn't happen to everyone, but when it does it usually happens when the person your having sex with means a lot to you," Dean blushed a bit at his own statement. "Er-- somethin' like that. I'm sure you could learn more about it with that smart head you've got on those beautiful shoulders,"_

_Sam's body heated again as Dean's lips came down to his left shoulder, kissing along his collarbone affectionately. His own form of relief washed over him as he ran over what Dean had said in his head a few times. It made sense, Dean did mean a lot to him. He meant more to Sam than anyone._

_The younger of the two remained silent while the older worshiped his body with his mouth, whether verbally or physically, and kissed Sam into a deep, blissed out sleep._

Dean said something else, but Sam didn't register it. Something had been taken from him. Sam felt like something was missing. Like he was no longer whole.

Sam found himself staggering over to the wall with trembling legs and sinking to the floor, wincing at the pain in his hips. He felt liquid trickling down the backs of his thighs and he knew it was probably his own blood and Dean's come. He couldn't recall a time he ever felt this... horrible. Not when he took on the Trials, not when he lost his mind after the Wall collapsed in his head after his year in the Cage. None of it even compared to this. 

Now he cried, and for one of the same reasons he had cried after their first time. 

Dean still meant more to him than anyone. That's what made it hurt so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Editing mistakes as I see them like usual_.*


	6. Bromancing with the King of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry about it being so long since I've updated! D: I got out that last chapter and I was all proud and like, "Alright, now I don't have to worry about it for a little bit," and my mentality stayed like that until I realized not too long ago that, "SHIT! It's been a friggin' month!"
> 
> Literally. 
> 
> An entire. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Month._
> 
>  
> 
> No updates. 
> 
> Forgive me. D: 
> 
> **Note:** There isn't any smut in this chapter, not really, at least. I'll make up for it in the next chapter which will be coming to you soon.(: (A lot sooner than this one //a whole freaking month and three days later//) If not, smack me.

_Dean sighed as he stood over Sam's bed. He had a fever. Dean could practically smell Sam's flesh burning. He had suggested to John that they take him to the hospital, but John said to give him medicine and keep a cool rag on him, that he'd be fine. That was all over the phone. Apparently a hunt is more important than whether Sam's brain boils in his skull or not. Exhaling again, this time a gust, he fumed at the thought. Of course, though, he had to bite his tongue and not say a goddamn word. It'd only make it worse and make John more reluctant to take him to the hospital _if_ Sam really ended up needing it. _

_Now Dean had a rag over his forehead. It was probably hot underneath by this time, so he gently flipped it, satisfied with the small whimper that left Sam's sweat slicked lips. It was one of content. Dean'd given him some medicine not too long ago. It should start working any moment now. One could only hope._

_Crawling in the bed, he slipped in next to the shivering Sam. Despite his heated body, he was freezing. Dean had scrounged up three sheets and a wool blanket to go with it. He wiggled gently in close to Sam, whose eyes were closed and bottom lip quivering, and wrapped an arm around him. Instinctively, Sam curled up to his body. Dean had never really been afraid of getting sick. He had an immune system made of steel, unlike his Sammy. Someone could cough three states over and he'd get sick. It annoyed Dean a little. Not Sam, of course, he couldn't help it. But he just hated seeing his baby boy all uncomfortable and shaky and achy._

_"G-g-god, De, I'm so f-f-f-freakin' cold," Sam's arms were hugged to him and so Dean wrapped both of his arms around Sam and pulled him even closer; flush against him._

_"I know, Sammy," Dean said softly, creasing his brow with worry. "Medicine should start helping soon. Just gotta hold a little while, 'kay?"_

_Sam didn't answer verbally. It was more of a jerky nod._

_Dean's heart lurched in his chest at the shaking body in his arms, then at the way his shirt was already soaked in Sam's sweat. Dean had _just_ changed him. Not that he had any qualms with taking care of his Sammy, but that just meant he wasn't getting any better yet. He knew he had about another twenty or so minutes to go before the meds started making any kind of noticeable changes. But when it came to his baby boy, you could say that he was a little more than impatient. _

_"So w-w-w-warm," Sam murmured barely audible as he nestled his head into Dean's chest._

_~ A Few Days Later ~_

_Sam's fever broke that night a few days ago and now he was moving throughout the motel room. Dean encouraged him to stay in bed and read a book and insisted that if he needed anything, to tell him because he'd help him. That include, but wasn't limited to, making Sam soup after stealing some money to get it (he hated to leave his Sammy alone for too long, but he made sure he locked the door before he left and made sure to making his stealing and/or shopping quick), getting something to drink, changing his clothes, getting him more blankets, peeling the blankets off his sweaty body when he got a little too warm which didn't happen very often, and then last but not least, walking him to the bathroom. Sam was so weak and unsteady that Dean had to help him farther than just walking to the bathroom. Despite Sam's embarrassment, Dean didn't hesitate (well, he was a bit unsure and shuffled around awkwardly at first, but he still did it) to hold his baby brother up with his left arm snaked securely around his thin waist, then proceeding to use his right hand to aim for Sam._

_"I told you to stay in bed," Dean announced, staring at Sam from behind as his younger brother stood in front of the open minifridge._

_Sam jumped at the sudden loud voice and spun around a little too fast and ended up getting lightheaded, having to use the counter to hold him up as his head throbbed. "Jesus, Dean!" Sam shouted exasperatedly. "Scared the hell outta me,"_

_"Good," Dean's complacent grin made Sam want to roll his eyes, but his body was too exerted to even manage that. Conserving energy and whatnot. "Now get your sick ass to bed,"_

_Sam jumped, _yet again_ , whenever he heard a racket at the door. His eyes widened some and he looked over at Dean, who's eyes were trained on the door, too. Just as abruptly as the noise had started, it stopped, and then all at once as it was pushed open. In came a burly looking man who could be no other than John Winchester, their father. A duffel was slung over his shoulder and he looked like he got hurt. Not badly. His lip was busted and there was a cut on his eyebrow. _

_"Hey, boys," John boomed, closing the door (that was letting in a bunch of cold air, damnit, Sam didn't need this, he was sick!) and dropped the duffel off to the side of it._

_"Hey, Dad," The brothers both spoke in unison, though Sam's voice was a little hoarse. Dean made note to get him some water. He was probably due for some more medicine, too._

_"Hunt was a success," The man wore a triumphant smile. Sam tried to mirror it before turning his attention back to the kitchen and on into the fridge. Before, he would have rejoiced at his father's return, run up and hugged him, and as he thought previously, catered to his wounds regardless of the severity, but now he really didn't care. As bad as it sounded. Don't get him wrong, he loved his father, but their clash in personalities had been reaching that of extremes lately. Maybe it was because Sam was finding himself out lately. Figuring out what _he_ wanted to do. And that didn't include hunting, much to John's unliking. He had only shared these dangerous thoughts (as far as their father was concerned) with Dean. At least, to a more full extent. _

_"Was a werewolf case, right?" Dean questioned eagerly, earning an approving hum from their dad and a discreet roll of eyes from Sam, who pulled out one of his last apple juice boxes from the fridge. "How many of 'em were there?"_

_"At first I thought it was one, maybe two," John began and Sam tried to tune out the rest. "Turned out there was a whole pack of 'em. 'Bout eight, give or take,"_

_Dean grinned and opened his mouth to say something else, before John said something._

_"Sam doesn't look too bad," John commented under his breath to Dean as he shrugged of his duffel and jacket, peering slightly to where Sam was leaning on the counter, lazily enjoying a juice box._

_There was a fiery burst of anger that suddenly attacked Dean. _'Sam doesn't look too bad, huh?'_ Dean thought, clenching his jaw. "Not too bad?" Dean's voice came out surprisingly level. When Dean peered into the kitchen where Sam was still in the place, all he saw was his sick baby boy. Sickly pale skin, red nose and flushed face, a shaky hand wrapped around the juice box in his hand. He looked back to John and narrowed his gaze. He was rarely ever considered 'disrespectful' towards John unless Sam was involved. Then he'd make a complete jackass out of himself. And in this situation, rightfully so. "He just got back the ability to stand, what? Twelve or so hours ago?" Now Dean's voice was a growl, seeming to catch John off guard. "He sweated through three layers of clothing and I had to use mine and extra blanket to cover him up and he was still cold," _

_"Watch your tone with me, Dean," Dad warned._

_"No, screw you," Dean snapped, jabbing his index finger towards his father. "He could barely take a fucking piss by himself, much less shower. He couldn't keep anything solid down. I just barely got him eating toast and crackers--" He cut himself off; he was getting a little carried away. "While you were gone, he needed to see a doctor. And seeing how I'm only sixteen, I can't just up and make an appointment for him and you need money, which we don't have, to take someone to the ER. So we were both kind of fucked, Dad," He finished._

_By this time, Sam had rounded the corner and was looking back and forth in between the older man, his father, and the younger man, his older brother. Dean looked over and offered a small reassuring smile. But Sam didn't return it. Instead, he averted his gaze to their father. He swayed a bit, but caught himself. He really wasn't feeling all that well, still, and that was obvious._

_"Jesus, Sam," Dean hurried over, only to get pushed away. He retracted his hands, only for them to shoot out again to catch his brother collapsing. "See, I told you you needed to be in bed. I would have gotten you the damn juice box, kid," Dean huffed and then proceeded to lead Sam to his bed, albeit reluctantly on Sam's part, and help him into it._

_He heard the door open and Dean looked up, seeing that their father was gone. He'd left the duffel and his jacket. Must've meant he was going to go get shit faced somewhere. Dean huffed again, this time with disdain. John had never been good with confrontation when it wasn't him that was winning, or when it wasn't Dean who was on his side. No wonder the man left._

_"There you go, baby boy..." Dean cooed, helping Sam back into bed. The boy didn't have to have much convincing to slump down into the bed and go boneless as soon as his body touched the sheets._

_"-didn't..tayellat 'em," Sam murmured incoherently, making Dean frown a bit._

_"Hmm?"_

_"You..." Sam rolled over onto his back, looking at Dean. "Didn't... have to," Cough. "Yell at him,"_

_"He was being... _Dad_. Of course I had to yell at him," Dean laughed a bit, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam rolled slightly as the bed sunk down in one area, finding himself curling up against Dean's hip and leg, but he didn't move away at this realization. Maybe it was a combination of him being too sick to give a shit and how much he actually enjoyed his brother being beside him. Dean liked to think that it was the latter. "'S not your fault, Sammy. We're gonna fight here and there. All families do. It's normal,"_

_Sam inhaled, cracking his eyes open a fraction to look up at his brother. "But we're not a normal family,"_

_"Ain't that the truth," Dean sighed, pushing his calloused fingers through Sam's shaggy chestnut locks, unruly atop his head. "Just go to sleep, Sammy. He'll be back soon,"_

***

Dean remembered a time where it was always _protect Sammy, gotta protect Sammy_ mentality. He didn't know when exactly it had ventured into the dangerous territory of _protect Sammy, gotta protect **my** Sammy_. Gotta make sure he eats, drinks, bathes, does his homework, sleeps. Sammy was apart of him and always would be. Them growing up and even well on into adulthood, Dean had always had an urge to protect him, give him everything that John had never been able to give, even if he wasn't one hundred percent sure of how to give it, himself.

"That went to shit, didn't it?" Deanmon growled, a wicked grin quirking his lips up. 

_"I-- _we_ used to protect him,"_ Dean was pleading by this point. _"How could you--"_

"Like I said, _Good Dean_ -" Deanmon smirked at the little nickname he made up. Or rather, _they_ made up. There had to be some way to decipher between the split personalities, at least, according to 'Good Dean'. Deanmon knew better, of course, though. They were the same. Good and bad just had a bigger divide. Good Dean begged to differ. "-we're the same, you and I," Deanmon went on with a light huff of amusement at the cheesy line. "I just know what I want, when I want it. Fuck morals and all of the bullshit that holds everyone back--" 

_"That's what separates the sane from the psychopaths, Norman Bates,"_

"Guess we all have a little Psycho in us, don't we?" Deanmon swayed his hips at the spinney barstool he was currently occupying, his body moving slowly along with it. He brought the shot of whiskey to his lips and took a swig. This time he wasn't drowning away the sorrows that made him that self destructive, self sacrificing, pathetic excuse for a human being he was before. Now he was doing it for the hell of it. "Especially you, Dean," He hummed, taking another swig as he spun around once in the chair. "So much repressed _anger_ ," Dean goaded, but surprisingly his head stayed silent. A triumphant grin spread across his lips. "What? No smart remark?" More silence. Deanmon relaxed a bit in the barstool, stilling his hips and then proceeding to down the rest of his whiskey. 

"Holy mother of sin...!" A scratchy Scottish accent washed over Deanmon and he looked up and over to the source, his grin only widening. 

"Hey, Lucky," Deanmon chuckled at the shocked and then exasperated look that adorned the bearded man's face. The man's eyes narrowed after looking over to Dean, probably due to the reference to his nickname amongst the demons; Lucky the Leprechaun. Though demons would never in a million years call the King of Hell something like that to his face, Dean had no qualms with it. Especially not considering the major bromance they'd been sporting since Dean woke up in the Bunker. "Impressed?" Deanmon stood and looked around at the bar briefly, admiring his handy work before returning his gaze back to Crowley. 

The bar had been near empty when Dean showed up. Aside from the bar tender and a couple people starting early on their drinking binge for the night, Dean was the only person in there. He enjoyed the relative quiet for hours until a rather rowdy crowd decided to stroll in, per usual, around nine or ten. After hustling a few cocky truckers in a game of pool, he rose a little Hell. Anyone still in the bar after he had slammed the trucker with a major beer gut and an offensively tasteless green hat's head into the pool table... well, they were dead. Bodies were strung out all over the place. The two bar tenders (one whom was moments away from leaving and the other who had just started their shift) were either slumped over the counter not too far from where Dean had been sitting or thrown head first into a few bottles of gin. The truckers were dead, as well. Most of which (besides the one with the green hat) Dean had the decency to make little to no mess of, as well as a few others. He normally tried to avoid situations like this, with the mess and the attention it would have likely drawn, but this seemed easy enough. Small town, tinted bar windows (if any at all), and making it all the more easy to get away with it for the time being by simply flipping the "Open" sign to "Closed" and turning out most of the lights. 

Unfortunately, what mess he _did_ make also had found its' way on Dean's shirt. Good thing he was wearing black. Sadly, he couldn't say the same about his jeans.

"Impressed?!" Crowley scoffed, raking a hand over his balding head. "More like fighting the urge to strangle you!" He squawked, looking around at the mess incredulously. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to clean up things like this? Any idea at all?" 

"No, not really," Dean shrugged and sighed with disinterest. 

"Well, it's pretty damn difficult," Crowley huffed, scrubbing a hand over his beard, his eyes returning to Dean. "At least, if you want it done _right_. Some of us, _me_ , would rather _not_ draw unwanted attention to ourselves," 

When Dean remained silent, only giving a roll of his eyes and a saunter back over to the bar stool before hoping back on it, Crowley went on, gliding over to the new demon. "Bad for business," And climbed into the seat beside Dean. 

"Shame," Dean tsked with mock somberness.

Crowley rolled his eyes this time. "Can I get you a drink, _sweetheart_?" Dean questioned teasingly, flashing the other man his black eyes before blinking them back to normal. Crowley waved his hand in reply and Dean took no time hopping up on the counter and sliding over it and onto the other side, landing gracefully on his feet. He offered a little bow before proceeding to gather a glass and the bottle of whiskey he had been milking for the last couple hours leisurely. 

"So..." Crowley shifted in his seat, drawing Dean's focus for a moment as he poured the glass. "A certain trench coat wearing angel summoned me today," 

Deanmon nearly spilled the whiskey. It wasn't _him_ who had really reacted that way... It was Dean. _Good_ Dean. A frown marred Deanmon's lips and he looked up from the task at hand, watching Crowley with expectant, and slightly annoyed, emerald hues. "What'd he have to say?" Deanmon demanded. 

"Easy there, Squirrel," Crowley said slowly, warning. Finally, as Deanmon finished pouring Crowley's drink and topping off his own, the other man went on. "Anyway, it was mostly just a bunch of empty threats and slurs," Crowley shrugged, but it didn't sate Deanmon's growing curiosity. Maybe _curiosity_ wasn't the right word for it. Neither was concern. 

"That it?" Dean leaned against the bar, thumbing the rim of his own glass as Crowley sipped his own. 

"No," The man replied simply. 

"Then **_what_**?" 

Crowley tutted and shook a finger at him. "That's no way to talk to--" 

" _Please_?" Dean purposely exaggerated the word. 

Sighing, Crowley took another sip, watching Dean from over the top of his glass before setting it down. "Wanted to know where you were," 

"That all?" Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes, throwing his head back and downing the whiskey, slamming it back down on the counter with a satisfied _'ahh'_. "Ya really had me goin' there for a sec," 

"And where _Moose_ was," Crowley gave Dean a look that resembled something between accusation and knowing. 

Something stirred inside of Deanmon, and it most certainly wasn't _all_ him. Clawing it's way up his stomach, following his digestive system up into his esophagus. The unpleasant feeling swelled in his gut and manifested to his chest, making it tight and suddenly surprisingly hard to breathe.

Images flickered into his mind. One after the other. It was a compilation of things; Castiel, Sam, Castiel _and_ Sam, moments here and there that Dean would have, if he wasn't a demon, thought somewhere along the lines of sentimental. Now they weren't anything more than a burden. Dean thought it would do something; subdue his darker side or something along those lines. Instead, it just ends up pissing Dark Dean off. 

The memory that Dean thought best to leave Deanmon with was a more recent memory. One that made his stomach churn, though not because he didn't like it. It was of Sam, of course. Forced over the cot, bare ass naked, as he shivered and his body trembled as sobs shook his body. It was right after Dean had pulled out of that tight heat and he had just seen the various things running down the backs of Sam's shaky legs. A beautiful crimson trickled down his leg in small streams. Dean had grimaced at the blood, _Sam's_ blood, that coated his dick, but only because of the clean up job it would require afterward. 

Dean had been louder than ever in Deanmon's head whenever he was inside of Sam. Shouting protests so loud he could barely hear Sam scream and beg. But after it was all said and done, his head hadn't been so quiet in a _long_ time. Normally Dean would have some snide remark here, a smartass comment there, _something_ , but it's taken until now for Good Dean to really say anything. Usually killing people would rouse something inside of him, but Dean had a one track mind right now. And that track lead straight to the gargantuan man in that warehouse thirty or so minutes away; his baby brother. More or less a broken _shell_ of his baby brother. 

Then another memory flashed into his mind. Okay, well, it wasn't exactly a memory, it was more like Dean's mind was making things up. It was of him and Cas, with the angel pressing two fingers to his forehead, before Dean collapsed at his feet. 

"If I die, then you die, too," Deanmon snapped. 

_"As long as you're out of the picture, that's fine with me,"_

"What?" A gruff voice brought Deanmon back to the present and he looked up at the crossroads demon, current King of Hell. 

Dean shook his head briefly. "No, uhm--" He shifted on his feet, resting his elbow on the counter as he leaned on it. "Nothing," 

Silence filled the room and a certain tension made itself known between them. Dean even furrowed his brow at the feeling and once again topped off his glass. He wasn't _nearly_ drunk enough for this. 

"I know about your extracurricular activities, Dean," Crowley revealed and the tension eased, and so did Dean. The younger man didn't bother asking _how_ exactly it was that he came to have this information, but quickly reminded himself that Crowley was the King of Hell. Of course he knew. 

A chuckle bubbled up inside of Dean's chest, making it not so tight anymore. "What about 'em?" He inquired, taking a drink of his newly poured whiskey. " _Jealous_?" He teased lightly. 

"Hardly," A roll of his eyes once again came from Crowley and the older man averted his gaze to his drink. "Do you really think torturing Moose is going to get you anywhere? I mean, _really_ get you anywhere?" When there was a sharp look coming pointedly from Dean and at Crowley, Crowley decided it best to go on. "Whatever fucked up thing you two had going on before..." He looked to Dean, as if he wanted to confirm that him and Sam'd had some kind of history in an unbrotherly sense of the term. Crowley finally went on. "-I think it's in everyone's best interest that you _leave it in the **past**_. I don't need a self sacrificing, pissed off angel on my ass, alright? Especially when he learns about what you've been doing to poor Moosely," He sighed. 

" ** _If_** he finds out," Dean's grip on his glass tightened. 

"No, **_when_** he finds out," Crowley corrected in a clipped fashion. "You think someone like him is just going to stop searching for demon you and vulnerable Sam? Yeah, _no_ ," He snapped. Deanmon rolled his eyes and put his glass down. He reached over the counter and grabbed his flannel and slid it on, straightening out the collar as he turned for the door to leave. "He's tried to summon me more than once, you know!" Crowley called after Dean, who merely ignored the man and continued his way out of the bar. Once outside, he paused and inhaled, looking up at the morning sky with a look of distaste. 

_"What _are_ you trying to prove?"_

"Nothing. I ain't gotta prove nothing to nobody," Deanmon answered aloud. 

_"Sure. You rape my baby brother-"_

" ** _Our_** baby brother, you mean," Deanmon corrected sharply. 

_"-And you have no reason behind it?"_

"I already told you; I'm just indulging in everything you've ever wanted. If that includes ravishing our baby brother's _beautiful_ body, then so be it," Deanmon growled lowly, eyes now on the parking lot, spiting the "Closed" sign with how many cars were parked in it. Much more than needed for an after hours kind of job. "Whatever you want, I want. We're the same person, remember?" 

Silence. 

_"He's never going to be yours, you know,"_ Good Dean's tone was edged with something along the lines of determination. _"Not in the way you want him to be,"_

This time it was Deanmon's turn to fall silent for a moment. 

"We'll have to just see about that, won't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, despite the lack of smut, you enjoyed this chapter. I learned how to do the GIF thing in stories and whatnot on here, so I'll probably be indulging in those...(; 
> 
> Anyway, so prepare yourselves for the next chapter, my sexies! Have something a bit more brutal in store.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! If you want more, too, let me know. I have a lot of ideas planned for this. >;3.


End file.
